


that's the kind of love (i've been dreaming of)

by Flowerparrish



Series: sweeter than heaven (hotter than hell) [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Cockwarming, Crymaxing, Dom!Clint Barton, Dom/sub, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Kink Negotiation, Lingerie, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Praise Kink, Relationship Negotiation, Rimming, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Some angst but not a lot, Spanking, Stealth dating, Unsafe Sex, Vibrating Butt Plugs, if that's a turn off pls just don't even read this bc i care a lot about consent and i'm not sorry, light humiliation, mostly clint pov, no condoms bc supersoldiers, okay there's a little plot but mostly porn, so much careful consent, sub!Steve Rogers, switch!Bucky Barnes, with the exception of half of the first chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:31:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish
Summary: It all starts with a conversation that Bucky doesn’t even mean to overhear.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hawksonfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/gifts).

> For my dearest candycanedarcy for their birthday; you're the best bro, and you deserve the filthiest porn I could write. Idk how filthy that'll be, but hopefully you'll enjoy it. 
> 
> For the rest of y'all, I'll try to post warnings in endnotes on each chapter so you can check them out if you're worried something might squick you, but also no one gets spoiled.
> 
> Lastly, endless thanks to Shorty and Rosie for beta work, editing as much as they could. Rosie in particular kink checked for me which made me feel way more confident about this story, and additionally was an amazing help with reorganizing scenes in a way that made sense. Shorty also did huge work on the first few chapters with me, which was a huge help. Toward the end, it is more or less unbeta'd; I did read through a few times to catch little inconsistencies, but I apologize for any errors that remain.

It all starts with a conversation Bucky doesn’t even _mean _to overhear. In his defense, it’s not his fault that Clint and Natasha were talking about it in the kitchen, of all places. They _were _talking in Russian, but Natasha knows Bucky speaks Russian, so it’s hardly Bucky’s fault they didn’t pick a language no one else would know.

It _is _Bucky’s fault that he can’t get it out of his head. But, well, the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks that it’s kind of perfect?

Clint wants a sub, but he’s worried about going out and trying to find one because, while he’s not the most recognizable Avenger, he’s still an Avenger.

Bucky can understand that. He wouldn’t want his sex life put on blast and challenged by Fox News, either—well, any more than it already is, what with everyone knowing he’s in a relationship with Steve.

So, Clint wants someone to sub for him. And Steve? Steve is the subbiest sub Bucky’s ever met.

Bucky’s a switch. He’s also… uncomfortable, with sex. It’s stressful and overwhelming and he _wants _to make Steve happy, and sometimes he can help him get off without having a panic attack, but it’s… a work in progress.

But this? He can’t imagine ever being in a place where he can give Steve _this _again. He’s too uncomfortable with everything surrounding orders—giving them or taking them. And he knows Steve wants it, even if he’d never ask for it.

It wouldn’t even be unprecedented, for them. They’d been together in the past, and they’d also been with other people, and they’d never put much stock in jealousy.

It _might _be different now. Now, they can be open about their relationship; they don’t have to date other people, don’t have to pretend.

But when Bucky takes a second and imagines it, Clint and Steve together, it doesn’t make him jealous.

It does make him a little hot and bothered, but, well. Clint’s a tall, blond idiot—Bucky can admit he’s exactly Bucky’s type.

The thoughts plague Bucky for days, making him awkward and quiet whenever he’s in the same room as Clint or Steve, making him run away if he’s in the same room as Clint _and _Steve.

He knows Steve is going to try to corner him, so it surprises him when Clint does it first. But then, Clint’s sneakier—he doesn’t get the drop on Bucky, but he does manage to catch him with his guard mostly down.

Bucky blames it on the fact that he’s only on his second cup of coffee. It takes at least four for the caffeine to kick in, fighting against the serum to take effect.

At least he’s not Steve. He’s only got a knock-off serum; Steve’s kicks the caffeine’s ass every time, no matter how much coffee he drinks.

“So, you’re being weird,” Clint says.

“I’m always weird,” Bucky points out, because he’s self-aware. Therapy has given him that gift.

“Yeah, okay,” Clint agrees easily, and that’s one of the things Bucky likes about him so much. He doesn’t ever try to pretend Bucky’s something he’s not; Clint just takes him at face value, _sees _him and accepts him as he is.

It’s a heady thing, really.

So, he super hopes his next works aren’t going to fuck up their friendship. “I overheard you talking to Nat the other day,” Bucky says slowly. He thinks about how easy it is to overhear people talking in the kitchen—and why does the _kitchen _seem to be the place for these conversations? Jesus—and switches to Russian. “About sex.”

Clint chokes on his first sip of coffee. “Oh, fuck.”

Bucky shrugs. “It’s fine. It just… made me think.”

Clint’s sharp eyes study him, but after a moment he slumps a little in what Bucky thinks is relief. “Oh, okay. Want to share?” He’s gone out of his way to confront Bucky about his weirdness, but when he asks the question, it doesn’t have any force to it. It’s just a friendly offer; it’s clear he’ll keep letting Bucky make things weird if Bucky doesn’t want to talk, or isn’t ready to.

Bucky’s becoming more and more sure. “Yeah. I just… I don’t really. Do that. Have sex.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Bucky nods. “It’s just… a lot. I can’t really handle it.”

“Okay,” Clint agrees easily. “Sorry if the things I said caused any discomfort.”

“No, it didn’t,” Bucky’s quick to assure him. “I just… Steve wants sex? But he’d never push me to do anything I’m not ready for.”

“Good,” Clint says, sipping at his still steaming coffee—how does he do that without burning himself? “I’d kick his ass if he did.”

“You’d… what?”

Clint shrugs. “I take consent very seriously.”

“D’you think you’d win?” Bucky has to ask, curious.

Clint contemplates that. “Hm. I dunno. I’d say forty sixty in his favor. He’s built, but I’m quick.”

“You’d try to fight Steve even knowing the odds aren’t in your favor?”

“Well, yeah. You’re my friend.”

It’s definitely among the top ten nicest things anyone’s ever said to Bucky. It derails him for a moment. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Clint sips at his coffee, unbothered, apparently willing to wait for Bucky to get his thoughts in order.

“So, anyway, Steve wants sex, and _you _want sex, and you’d be… compatible, it sounds like.” Bucky didn’t honestly know he could blush, but he can feel his cheeks flaming. “And I keep thinking about _that.”_

“Huh.” Clint doesn’t really say anything else, just sipping at his coffee, and Bucky’s anxiety kicks in.

“Sorry, I know that’s, like, probably crossing a line.”

“What?” Clint turns to look at him and then says, “Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m just thinking.”

That doesn’t do much to reassure Bucky, but it doesn’t sound like an inherently _bad _thing, so he nods and focuses on his coffee. He refills it from the large pot that Clint had just snagged and brought to the island counter with him, and he slowly drinks down that cup too.

“Yeah, okay,” Clint says eventually. “Have you talked to Steve about this?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Not yet. You cornered me first.”

A grin tugs at the edge of Clint’s lips. “Well, I guess I’d be down to try it? If Steve wants. But if not, that’s also fine.”

“Really?” Bucky blurts. Clint looks amused. “I mean! Great. I’ll talk to him.” He’s vaguely aware that he’s babbling. He’s definitely been spending way too much time around Clint.

“Cool,” Clint agrees easily, refilling his mug and toasting Bucky with it. “You guys know where to find me if you need me.”

Bucky wants more coffee, but he’s also pretty sure he’s going to spontaneously combust if he has to think about the awkwardness of this conversation any longer, and staying in the same room with Clint will absolutely mean he can do nothing but think about it.

He abandons the coffee. “Okay, see you later,” he says, and he absolutely does not run away. He makes a hasty, strategic retreat, like the well-trained soldier he is.

The soft huff of Clint’s laughter behind him is too knowing for Bucky’s own good, but it doesn’t make him feel mocked. It feels warm, like an inside joke.

Oh well. There are worse things than being attracted to his boyfriend’s potential fuck buddy, not to mention his own good friend.

\--

The conversation with Steve goes a little bit less smoothly.

Part of that is definitely Bucky’s fault, because he can’t find a good way to _start _it. Finally, he just allows Steve to corner him and says, “Can we talk? In private?”

“Yeah, Buck, of course,” Steve agrees immediately. His brows are drawn together in worry, and it makes Bucky want to kiss his stupid, earnest, expressive face.

So he does. Perks of the modern day: he can kiss Steve whenever and wherever he feels like it.

When he sits Steve down in their living room, he chooses the most comfortable couch—both to soothe his own anxiety about this talk and to, hopefully, lull Steve into a sense of calmness.

He knows it’s not going to work. Calm is rarely an adjective that can apply to Steve.

“So, it’s about… sex,” Bucky says.

There’s a beat of awkward silence. Then Steve says, “Okay,” when he seems to realize Bucky isn’t going to talk more unprompted.

“I’m still…” Why is it so hard to find the right words for this? It was almost easier talking about it with Clint. “I’m not comfortable with sex right now,” Bucky finally says.

“That’s fine, Buck,” Steve tells him.

“Yeah, but—” Bucky’s getting frustrated, mostly from his inability to guide this conversation where he wants it to go, but also, irrationally, with Steve, for not just _getting it. _“I talked with Clint,” he finally tries.

“Okay,” Steve says easily. “About…?”

“About how I’m not interested in sex,” Bucky says, “and how you are.”

“Buck, just because I like sex, that doesn’t mean you have to push yourself to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

He’s _not getting it. _“I know,” Bucky says. “And that’s what Clint said, too.”

“Good,” Steve says. “So…?”

“I think you and Clint should have sex,” Bucky blurts. _Well, fuck, _he thinks, _that could’ve gone more smoothly._

“Wait, what?” Steve sounds genuinely confused. “Buck, I’m with _you.”_

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “But it’s not like it’s somethin’ we’ve never done before.”

“Okay, but it’s different now,” Steve argues. He’s finally gearing up to fight; it should make Bucky more anxious, but instead, it settles him. This is Steve in his natural state; Bucky can trust his reactions to be genuine when he’s worked up in a way he can’t when Steve’s forcing himself to be calm and controlled.

“Sure,” Bucky agrees, and he sees some of the steam go out of Steve’s anger. “But I’m sayin’ it doesn’t _gotta _be.”

“I don’t want anyone but you,” Steve says.

Bucky snorts. “That is a goddamn lie, Steve Rogers. You may not _need _anyone but me, but that sure as hell doesn’t prevent you from being _attracted _to other people.”

Steve goes red. At first, Bucky thinks it’s anger, but then he realizes it’s just a dark blush. “I’m sorry—”

Bucky cuts him off. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.” He sighs. “I’m fine, Steve. I know what I mean to you. I’m just sayin’, if sex is something you want, you and Clint could… do that.”

Steve rubs at the back of his neck. “Geez, Buck, I dunno. What did Clint say?”

“That he was fine either way.”

“I just… Clint? Where’d you get that idea, anyway?”

“I’ve seen how you look at him,” Bucky points out, amused. “And it’s not like I haven’t looked either. But mostly I heard him talking to Romanoff about how he wanted to dom for someone but he was worried about the backlash that kind of relationship could have on the Avengers PR if it got out, and it got me thinking.”

Steve’s blush has, improbably, darkened. But so have his eyes, so Bucky knows he’s more interested than embarrassed. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, inexplicably pleased. But, well, he’s getting his way—why wouldn’t he be pleased? “Just think about it, Stevie.”

Steve nods, but then after a moment, he sighs. “I just don’t want you to ever think you aren’t enough for me, Buck.”

Aw, geez. Bucky nudges Steve’s shoulder with his own, takes Steve’s hand and twines their fingers together. “I know, punk. But it’s not like you’d be out fucking whoever you could find. This is Clint.”

Steve nods again. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll think about it.”

Bucky ducks in and kisses his cheek. “Good.”

\--

Clint’s surprised when Steve comes to find him a few days later. He’d honestly expected Steve to refuse, and he hadn’t been all that bothered by it. But Steve, blush painted across his cheeks and down his neck, says, “I talked to Bucky,” and Clint thinks, _oh. This is happening._

“Yeah?” There’s more to the question than just a confirmation that the talk was had; it’s also a question about the answer.

Steve’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Yeah,” he agrees.

“Want to go talk in my rooms?” Clint offers. Steve nods, and when Clint moves to lead the way, he follows easily.

When Clint lets them in, he shuts the door behind Steve and takes a seat on the couch. Steve hesitates, and Clint pats the cushion beside him invitingly. Steve sits, back ramrod straight, looking supremely uncomfortable.

“So,” Clint says, when it’s clear Steve’s not going to speak first. “Want to tell me what kind of things you’re into? What are you looking to get out of this?”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. “This is weird,” he finally says.

Clint shrugs. “A little. If you don’t want to do anything, no harm, no foul. But if you do…” He leaves the offer open-ended, waiting to see what Steve will do with it.

“I just don’t see what you’d be getting out of this,” Steve says at last.

Clint blinks. “I mean, plenty. You’re hot like burning, Steve, it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship to sleep with you. Plus, I’m not so selfless as to sleep with someone I’m not attracted to.”

That seems to settle Steve somewhat. “I guess, I’m into… being ordered around?” Clint nods, partly in encouragement, partly because, yeah, that tracks with what Bucky had implied. “I like rough sex, too.”

“Hm, can you be more specific?” Clint asks. “I’m not going to ask you to fill out a checklist or anything,” because that would be more for if they decided to make this a steady thing, “but specific dos and don’ts are good so that I know what I’m working with.”

Steve nods. For all that he’d been blushing before, he seems to be settling into the conversation now. “I like being fucked,” he says easily, “fast and hard. I like having my hair pulled, and I like being spanked. I also…” he trails off.

“What?” Clint prompts.

“I don’t always feel everything the same way, after the serum. I register light touches, but they’re more… distant. Pain feels more real? It grounds me, kind of. I know that’s weird.”

It’s certainly not what Clint expected, but… “It’s not weird,” Clint promises. “Just not what I expected.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “It’s the complete opposite for Bucky.”

_Huh, _Clint thinks. “Okay. Anything else?”

“I like being tied up,” Steve offers, a little bit hesitant.

“Okay,” Clint says, and he tries not to let on that he’s getting a little hard thinking about tying Steve up. But, okay, _damn, _he might actually die if he gets to do it. “That might be a little advanced for trying things out, but I’ll keep it in mind. Do you like being restrained in other ways? Pinned down?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s hard to pin me. I don’t know. Probably?”

Clint makes a mental note—probably, but check in. “Anything you absolutely don’t like?”

“Cold,” Steve says immediately. “No temperature play.”

Clint notes that Steve uses one of the modern names for it, which means he must have done research. Did he do it in preparation for meeting with Clint, or had he been researching BDSM even earlier than that?

He wonders how badly Steve’s wanted to get fucked, and for how long.

He thinks about how, if he plays his cards right, _he _might get to be the one that fucks Steve.

And Steve wonders what he could possibly be getting out of this, _Jesus._

“Okay,” Clint agrees easily, trying not to betray the path his thoughts have taken.

“I’m also not into…” Steve blushes again, darker this time. “Um, some of the weirder stuff?”

Clint wants to point out that either it’s all weird, or none of it is, but he thinks he knows what Steve means. “Okay, well, we wouldn’t get to any heavy kink activities without negotiating first,” he assures Steve. “Is there anything else?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. Wait. Yes. Is there something I should call you?”

Clint shrugs. “Titles get weird in my line of work, so I’m not big on being called sir. Just my name is fine.”

“Can I ask…” Steve starts, before trailing off.

“What?”

“What are you into?” Steve blurts.

Oh. “Giving orders,” Clint says easily. “Rewarding my sub when they’re followed, and punishing them when they’re not.” He notes Steve’s eyes darkening, _score, _and continues, “spanking, orgasm delay, overstimulating my partner into multiple orgasms.”

“Oh,” Steve replies, the word soft and a little breathless. “Yeah, I’m…” He licks his lips. “That sounds good to me.”

Clint grins. “I’m glad. When do you want to do this?”

“I, um, now?” Steve asks, pupils still wide.

Clint grins. It’s a little wolfish, and he sees Steve swallow thickly in response. _Oh yeah, _he thinks, _this is gonna be fun._

Still, Steve looks like he might spook at any minute; easing into this seems like a good idea. And there’s one last thing Clint needs to cover. “Okay,” he agrees. “Now is fine. Do you have a safeword, or do you want to use the stoplight system?”

“I don’t need—” Steve starts to say, and Clint cuts him off.

“No. If we’re doing anything, you’re going to have some way to tell me to stop. You can always just tell me to stop, but I like to check in, especially when I’m doing new things or with a new partner.”

Steve nods slowly. “Stoplights, then.”

“Okay,” Clint says, and he trusts that Steve’s done enough research to know what each one means. He shifts closer to Steve on the couch, moving over until their legs are pressed together. “Can I kiss you?”

Steve nods, and he opens his mouth to say something, but now that Clint’s been given permission, he moves in.

Clint catches Steve’s mouth partially open, his lips parted around the start of a word, and they’re wet from his tongue and a little bit chapped against Clint’s own. Clint winds a hand into Steve’s hair, cradling his head as they kiss, holding him in place so he can’t follow when Clint pulls away.

He doesn’t pull away far, he can still feel Steve’s gasping breath on his lips from inches away, but when Steve tries to follow, he’s stopped by Clint’s grip in his hair. “Fuck,” he whispers.

Clint grins. “Yeah?”

Steve’s eyes, which had slipped closed, drift open. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “Kiss me?”

“All you gotta do is ask,” Clint tells him, and leans forward to kiss him again. He uses his grip on Steve’s hair to guide him exactly where he wants him, and Steve melts into it.

It is very quickly becoming the only thing Clint wants to do for approximately the rest of the lifespan of the universe. Or until he dies from lack of air. He’s not picky.

But then Steve shifts a little, and his thigh brushes against Clint’s. It draws Clint’s attention south, and he realizes he’s already hard.

Steve’s hand comes up to hesitantly curl around Clint’s bicep, and Clint’s not averse to being touched—in fact, Steve’s hand, hot because his body temperature runs higher than an average person’s, makes him shiver, and it’s not even placed anywhere particularly sensitive.

But Clint’s got _ideas, _and he’s going to test them, because he’s got one shot to make this good, and he’s gonna do it.

So he straddles Steve’s lap, thighs tight around Steve’s legs, and asks, “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, and he looks more turned on than Clint would expect from just this.

Well, this and the conversation, so maybe Clint’s got a little bit of an edge. He’ll take it.

Clint moves in to kiss Steve again, and as he does it, he snags Steve’s hands where they’re trying to wrap around his waist and pulls them up, pins them against the head of the couch. Steve doesn’t falter in the kiss, so Clint gives it a few moments, lets Steve adjust to the feeling, before he breaks apart to ask, “Green?”

Steve blinks at him, eyes wide. “Green,” he agrees, still breathless. “Please, just—”

Clint ducks back in and kisses him, and Steve groans into the kiss, wrists flexing against Clint’s grip before he catches himself and subsides, letting Clint go at whatever pace he wants.

It’s a heady thing, the control, the chance to decide what happens, when, how fast or slow, being so in control of someone else’s pleasure.

It’s the best thing in the world, and _God, _Clint’s missed this.

He kisses Steve and holds him in place until both their mouths are red and a little swollen from it. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Clint tells him, momentarily stunned by the man beneath him.

Steve blushes darker than he had when they were talking about sex.

Clint doesn’t say anything more, just ducks his head down to kiss at the line of Steve’s jaw, down his neck, kisses deepening into gentle (and then not so gentle) tugs of teeth. Steve whimpers a few times, wrists tugging gently against Clint’s hold, and when Clint bites and sucks a mark at the base of Steve’s neck where it meets his collarbone, Steve’s hips jerk up.

Clint wasn’t expecting it, but he’s _very _good at rolling with the unexpected (ha, literally), so he just rides the motion with his hips and grins into Steve’s neck. “Was there something you wanted?” Clint asks, a faint edge of teasing in his tone.

“Fuck, touch me, Clint, please,” Steve begs, and he’s so close to sounding wrecked that Clint has to hold in a full-body shiver.

“Mm, maybe later,” he says, and Steve whines, but Clint just keeps doing what he’s doing, switching to the other side of Steve’s neck and sucking marks there, too.

By the time Clint’s sucked marks all down that side of his neck, Steve’s hips are rolling with each one he makes, and Clint’s got the requisite roll of his hips that keeps Steve from getting any friction to his dick down to an art form.

Steve has also been begging, and Clint’s not even sure he knows he’s doing it; the last time he met Steve’s gaze, his eyes were a little bit glassy.

It’s a good look on him.

Clint kind of wants to see him on his knees.

_Maybe next time, _he tells himself, and fervently prays there will be a next time.

“I’m going to touch you now,” Clint tells Steve, and cherishes the improbably high-pitched whine he receives in response. “Keep your hands up here for me, okay?”

He waits for Steve to nod before letting go and sliding off of Steve’s lap. He pulls the t-shirt Steve is wearing up and off of him, tugging from the hem, and Steve obligingly lifts his arms, but he resettles them when Clint left them without Clint needing to say anything.

The easy way he follows Clint’s order, even when it’s been disrupted, sends a rush of heat through Clint.

Clint slides to his knees and Steve’s eyes go wide. “What—” he starts to ask, and Clint shushes him.

“I said I was going to touch you, didn’t I?” Clint asks. Steve nods, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “I didn’t say how.”

Clint’s hands go to the button on the faded jeans Steve is wearing, tugging down the zipper once it’s free.

Steve’s dick is already hard, the tip of it pushing up past his boxers once Clint pulls the jeans down his hips. Steve’s hips twitch up, his cock jerking with the movement, and Clint can’t help the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips in anticipation.

“Stay still,” he orders.

And then he reaches into Steve’s boxers and pulls out his dick.

Clint has to take a moment just to _appreciate _it. It is potentially the biggest dick he’s ever seen; his mouth is literally watering. It’s uncut and flushed dark, curving slightly to the left, and it’s silky smooth in Clint’s hand.

He’s so distracted by the sheer glory that is Steve Rogers’ dick that he almost fails to register the moan Steve lets out as Clint firms his grip and gives it a few good strokes. Clint lets go long enough to drag Steve’s boxers down his thighs as well, but leaves them there, where they’ll more or less stymie the movement of Steve’s legs.

Clint knows that the supersoldiers are immune to all disease, and thanks to an off-color comment from Tony (that Clint can admit he was _also _thinking and would probably have said if Tony hadn’t gotten there first), Clint knows that the immunity includes an inability to catch or carry STIs.

Clint doesn’t really care much about that in the moment, beyond the fact that he wants to _taste, _and he’s allowed to.

Shit, is he going to survive this?

He doesn’t even care. This would be the _best _way to die.

He wraps his hand around the base of Steve’s dick and guides it into his mouth, taking in just the tip at first, licking up the slit and circling around the edge of his foreskin. He glances up as he does it, partly to see Steve’s face, and partly to see if Steve follows his instructions.

The weight of a dick against his tongue, even just the head, his lips stretched wide around it, the taste of precum… it’s just this side of heaven. The expression on Steve’s face says he’s feeling the same, his mouth open on a gasp, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut. And his arms stay exactly where Steve put them, even if they’re trembling with the effort Steve’s exerting to hold them in place and not reach for Clint.

Clint lets Steve’s dick slide out of his mouth with a wet _pop _and smirks at the small whimper of protest Steve lets out. “You taste so good,” he tells Steve, nuzzling his hip and sucking a mark there. “Do you want me to suck your dick?”

“Yes,” Steve blurts quickly. “Please, Clint.”

“Hm.” Clint licks a stripe up Steve’s dick, still holding it steady at the base, and smiles at the soft cry Steve lets out at the unexpected sensation. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll suck your dick, but only if you keep still for me. Can you do that? Can you be a good boy for me?”

Steve’s dick throbs at the words, and Clint grins. Steve doesn’t even attempt words, just nods desperately. “Please,” he says eventually, and it comes out a whine.

Clint takes pity on him. He’s being nice, after all; he gets the feeling their both on their best behavior as they see if this works.

It’s sure as hell working for Clint. And it sure looks like it’s working for Steve, too.

Clint sucks the head of Steve’s dick back into his mouth, sucking and licking at it and waiting to see how long Steve can handle it.

He does pretty well; by Clint’s estimation, a couple of minutes goes by with Steve’s hips just barely twitching under Clint, hands still above his head. But then Clint bobs down, taking Steve’s dick most of the way into his mouth, not deepthroating it (yet) but making sure the head of his cock brushes against the side of Clint’s cheek, and Steve swears, hips jerking up.

Clint pulls back, admiring how good Steve’s dick looks all shiny with Clint’s spit. “Did I say you could move?”

“Please,” Steve begs. “Clint, I need—”

“Do you need help keeping still, baby?” Clint offers.

Steve keens. “I just, Clint, please—”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Clint decides. He releases his grip on the base of Steve’s cock and pins Steve’s hips with both of his hands. “There you go, baby. You don’t have to hold back anymore. I’ve got you.”

He sucks Steve’s dick into his mouth before Steve can respond, and Steve’s hips thrust under him, but Clint holds him steady. He teases at the slit before bobbing down, sucking as he goes, wrapping his tongue around Steve’s length, bobbing deeper each time before finally (_finally) _Steve’s cock brushes against Clint’s throat.

Steve’s moan is shaking and sinful, and Clint feels _powerful _in a way he adores.

Clint uses every trick he knows until Steve’s a quivering mess underneath him, trying to thrust into Clint’s mouth and being denied, and Clint eases off every time he can tell Steve’s close to an orgasm.

Steve has devolved into an endless stream of begging, just “please” and “fuck” and “Clint” strung together, each word tripping over the last.

Clint pulls back when he can tell Steve’s close for, to his count, the sixth time, and says, “Do you want to come?”

Steve nods. “Please, Clint, let me come, please,” he begs.

“Okay,” Clint agrees. “You’ve been so good for me, and I’m going to make you come. But…” He trails off and Steve whines, hips jerking against Clint’s grip. “If I let you come, I’m going to keep making you come until you can’t anymore.”

There are tears in Steve’s eyes. “Clint, please,” he begs.

“Do you want to come?” Clint asks.

“Yes!”

“Color?”

“Green!”

Clint hums. “Good boy.” And then he wraps his hand around Steve’s dick, slick with spit and precum, and jerks him off, quick and firm. It doesn’t take long—maybe a minute and a half, if that—until Steve’s spilling over his own chest and Clint’s hand, stifling a shout by biting his own lip.

Clint slows the pace of his hand, but he doesn’t stop. Steve’s trembling under him, and Clint uses his free hand to rub at Steve’s hipbone. “Shh, I got you,” Clint murmurs, even as Steve _sobs. _There are tears leaking from his eyes now, even as they’re screwed tightly shut, and Clint’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

“I can’t—”

“Do you want me to stop?” Clint asks, even as he makes no move to do so.

“Don’t stop,” Steve sobs. “Please, just, I want…” he trails off, boneless, not thrusting up into Clint’s grip but not trying to pull away, just letting him set the pace.

Clint coaxes another orgasm out of Steve, jerks him until he’s twitching and crying out and then jerks him _through it, _and then when Steve’s body relaxes, Clint _keeps going._

“Clint,” Steve whines, his hips half-heartedly trying to twitch away.

Clint shushes him. “You’re so pretty like this,” he says. “So responsive, so good for me.” He keeps stroking Steve but puts his other hand to good use now while he does it, tweaking Steve’s nipples, tugging at them until Steve’s crying out, dick twitching each time Clint pulls one of them.

Clint shifts up on his knees so he can pull one of Steve’s nipples into his mouth, sucking on it while tweaking the other with his fingers. He bites down at the same time as he yanks at Steve’s nipple, at the same time as he’s on an upstroke of Steve’s dick, and Steve comes with a shocked cry, spilling up on Clint’s shirt.

Clint pulls back and looks down at the mess. He jerks Steve through the orgasm, and then lets go long enough to tug off his shirt. Once it’s over his head and cast aside, he sees at Steve’s eyes are open, glassy but appreciative as he takes in Clint’s chest and arms.

Clint’s not shy about his body; he knows he’s good looking. He knows he’s even attractive enough that he hadn’t questioned Steve’s interest in him; he doesn’t think Steve would be desperate enough to do anything with someone he wasn’t attracted to, either. But it’s still nice to see Steve drinking in the sight of him.

“You can touch,” Clint allows after a moment’s consideration. “As a reward for being so good. I’m going to give you one more orgasm, okay? Then we’re done.”

Steve whimpers but nods, and once Clint’s shifted back in reach, Steve’s hands are reaching for him, one hand stroking over the lines of his chest while the other curls around his bicep again. Clint can’t fault the man’s taste; he’s got _great _biceps from archery, and someone else might as well take note of them.

Clint briefly considers using a toy—that could be _fun—_but dismisses it, because they hadn’t talked about toys, and he’s not going to risk when there’s so much he doesn’t know about Steve’s preferences. Instead, he sets about kissing a line down Steve’s chest, licking over the definition of his abs and sucking bruises whenever he feels like it, and he resumes jerking Steve off.

He goes slow, because this is the last one, but Steve’s so oversensitive that it doesn’t take long before he’s whimpering with every tug at his dick, no matter how gentle.

“Please, Clint, I gotta,” Steve pants, and Clint obligingly tightens his grip, speeds up the pace, and it’s barely three strokes before Steve’s coming almost dry, only tiny spurts of come leaking from his cock as he _wails._

Clint jerks him through it and then eases away. He stands up and Steve’s eyes crack open, glassy and unfocused. “I’m gonna go get a rag to clean you up,” Clint tells Steve. He’s not sure that the words are getting through; Steve looks pretty blissed out and spacey. But Steve doesn’t get upset when Clint moves away, so he takes it as a win and quickly wets a hand towel with warm water before going back to Steve.

He carefully cleans up Steve’s chest and the stray bit of come that managed to make its way all the way up to Steve’s chin, after what Clint assumes was a particularly enthusiastic spurt. Clint’s even more gentle cleaning off Steve’s cock, but Steve still whimpers softly at the touch. “Shh, you did so good,” Clint tells him. “I got you.”

Clint quickly wipes himself down as well, and then he climbs back onto the couch and draws Steve’s lax body into his chest, wrapping his arms around Steve’s chest. Steve may be bigger than Clint, but Clint’s got a couple of inches on him, and he uses them to good advantage by tucking Steve’s head under his chin.

For long minutes, they just breathe, coming back to themselves, grounding themselves once more. Clint absently traces patterns against Steve’s skin, and eventually Steve pulls away. “That was…”

“Good?” Clint suggests hopefully.

“Uh, _yeah,” _Steve says. “Fuck yeah.”

Clint grins and resists preening. Barely. “I’m glad.”

Steve grins back at him, and then his eyes widen. “Wait, you didn’t get off,” he says. “I can—”

“It’s fine,” Clint says, waving him away.

Steve’s jaw sets, stubborn. “I can—”

“Nope.” Steve’s eyes narrow, and _oh. _Clint’s just discovered a kink of his, and it’s telling Steve no. But also, this opportunity is too good to waste, so he says, “Next time, then.”

He holds his breath for the moment it takes Steve to respond. But after the words hang between them for a second, Steve smiles again, a smaller, more hesitant smile. “I’d like that.”


	2. Chapter 2

Clint’s drinking coffee straight out of the pot, sitting at the island counter when Bucky drops into the seat next to him.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, until Clint finally heaves a sigh and allows Bucky to snag what’s left of the coffee and pour it into his favorite mug. Clint stands up, crossing the space and readying the coffee pot to brew again, and then slumps back into his still-warm chair.

Bucky looks over the rim of his coffee cup, eyes twinkling at the man beside him. “So,” he drawls.

“So?”

“I heard you had a good night.”

Clint groans. “Isn’t that weird? Talking about it?”

Bucky shrugs. “Nah. Steve already told me all about it anyway. We tell each other everything.”

Clint rolls his eyes, but then perks up slightly. “Was I good?”

Bucky laughs. “Yes, Clint. Definitely top ten.”

Clint preens for a moment. Then, “Wait, top _ten? _How many guys has Steve slept with?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You think people didn’t go for his skinny twink look back in the day? Plus, I’d like to think I was a good lay back when. I don’t want to know if you rank higher than me; my ego wouldn’t survive it.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Clint says, but he’s grinning. “Okay, well, good then. You still feeling okay about all of this?”

Bucky rolls his eyes again. “Yep. Getting to hear about my hot boyfriend fucking my hot friend? It’s better than porn. The only way it would be better is if…” He trails off, a blush staining his cheeks.

Clint pounces on that. “If?”

“If I was watching,” Bucky says, raising his chin in challenge.

_Oh. _“Oh,” Clint breathes. If the way blood pulses in his cock from just the thought is anything to go by, he’s into it. “Um, well, why not?”

“Really?”

Clint shrugs. “I’m just saying…I’d be okay with you watching.”

Bucky’s jaw drops a little. “You’d… really?”

Clint shrugs. “I mean, yeah? It’s kinda hot. But, whatever, it’s up to you guys.”

“Oh, I, um? I’ll talk to Steve?” Bucky says, words tripping over one another, as he slides off the stool and away from the bar.

For the second time that week, Bucky beats a hasty retreat from Clint, which Clint honestly finds kind of hilarious, because Bucky’s the one who _starts _these conversations.

Whatever.

He grabs the coffee pot and sets about drinking this one down, too. Everything else can wait until later.

\--

Clint doesn’t see much of Bucky or Steve for the next couple of days. He knows through the gossip mill that Steve and Bucky go out for a date night one night a couple of days later, and then shortly after Steve gets called away on a mission.

Bucky clearly isn’t avoiding Clint though—they play video games and have shooting contests often enough, especially when Steve’s away, and this is no exception—but he doesn’t bring up sex again.

Clint’s got no desire to push things with either man, so he goes about his life and reflects that if this was a one-time thing, at least it was one of his better sexual encounters.

\--

It takes Clint by surprise when Steve finds him at the range after dinner one night; Steve doesn’t come down to the range often.

“What’s up?” Clint asks, turning to look at Steve even as he looses an arrow, knowing it’ll find its mark without needing to watch.

Steve blushes.

That’s enough to clue Clint in, for him to put his bow down and focus entirely on Steve for a moment.

He waits for Steve to talk. Steve who, for his part, is doing a good impression of a goldfish, opening his mouth for a few moments before closing it, again and again.

Clint takes pity on him. “Is it about sex?” Steve nods, looking relieved. “Is it that you don’t want more sex, or that you do?”

“Uh, the second one.”

Clint grins. “Oh, well, in that case, when were you thinking?”

Steve’s blush darkens. “Um, any time,” he says.

Clint’s grin widens. “You mean, like now?”

Steve ducks his head, a shy motion that’s by turns completely at odds with the man Clint’s grown to know and also wholly unsurprising. Either way, it’s cute as hell. “Yeah?” Steve sounds hopeful.

“Sure. Just lemme pack up my bow.”

Steve collects Clint’s arrows while he packs his bow, and it only takes a couple of minutes between the two of them. The task appears to have eased Steve’s previous embarrassment, sincethe blush is gone when they leave the range.

“Your room or mine?” Clint asks

“Yours?”

Clint shrugs. “Sure.” He supposes it would be weird, having sex with someone else in the apartment Steve shares with his actual boyfriend.

They could pass the trip to Clint’s floor in easy silence. But no one’s around—unless Nat is, but they’ll never know unless she wants them to—so Clint asks, “How much research have you done?”

Steve shrugs. “Some? It’s confusing, sometimes, but I’m figuring it out.”

Clint nods. “Looked up anything since we fucked?”

Steve’s blush returns—it makes Clint feel warm, pleased. He _likes _making Steve blush. “A little.”

Clint’s willing to bet it’s been more than ‘a little’ but doesn’t want to push too hard or too fast, so he asks, “Well, would you like to tell me one thing you realized you were into?”

“Uh,” Steve stammers. “Um.”

Clint nudges his shoulder lightly as they step into the elevator. “You don’t gotta,” he assures Steve. “But it does help if I know what you’re into, or not into, as the case may be.”

“Humiliation,” Steve blurts out. “But also… not? Just. Sometimes. A bit. I dunno.”

Clint hums. “Okay,” he agrees easily. “I’m… similar, I guess? I can get into it, but it’s not super important to me one way or the other.”

He doesn’t tell Steve whether or not they’ll try it—he’s not sure himself whether or not he wants to go that far yet. But he makes a mental note that it’s something he _can _try, maybe, and see how Steve reacts.

Clint lets them in to his apartment—still as messy as ever—and asks Steve, “Did you have anything in mind?”

Steve nods, the look on his face a cross between hesitant and determined. “You said I could make you come this time.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees, a bit surprised that _his orgasm _seems to be Steve’s sticking point. But hot guy plus guaranteed orgasms? He’s sure not gonna complain. “Sure. Anything… else?”

Steve shrugs. Clint goes with it, approaching Steve, amused to see him take a half-step back as Clint advances on him before stopping himself. “Trust me?” Clint asks.

Steve swallows hard. “Yeah.”

“I’ll make it good for you, I promise,” Clint assures him.

“And you.” The determined look is back.

Clint smiles softly. “Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be _very _good for me, too.”

He leans in to kiss Steve, soft at first, a _hello _more than anything. Steve’s lips part under his, and Clint deepens the kiss slowly.

When Clint pulls back, Steve’s eyes are dark with desire. “I’d like to fuck you,” he says. “That okay with you?”

“Fuck yeah,” Steve breathes. “Haven’t been fucked in so long.”

Clint smirks. “Well, hopefully I live up to your expectations, then.”

“You will,” Steve tells him, somehow both earnest and confident. “Can I strip?”

Clint considers. “I’d like to go slow,” he says eventually. “Learn your body, see what makes you tick.” Steve shivers. “That okay?”

“I—yeah,” Steve agrees. He swallows thickly and says, “So, clothes?”

“You can take off your shirt,” Clint allows. “And then we’ll move to the bedroom.”

Clint tugs off his own shirt, moving quick so he doesn’t miss much of the sight of Steve’s chest being revealed.

And _oh, _it’s a good reveal. It’s not like Clint expected anything different; he’s seen Steve shirtless in various contexts, as happens when you live and superhero with someone, but something about Steve shirtless in _this _context is just too delicious for words.

He reaches out, one hand stroking over the line of Steve’s shoulder as the other traces his abs, and whispers, “God, you’re so gorgeous.”

“Says you,” Steve shoots back as his own hands carefully come up to hover near Clint’s own shoulders.

“Yeah, says me,” Clint agrees. “You can touch.”

Steve’s hands rest on Clint’s shoulders thenslide down until they curl around his biceps; Clint doesn’t flex, but he does preen internally, just a little. The thing is, he’s proud of his biceps; he’s worked hard for them.

In his quest to touch every inch of Steve, his fingers brush across one of Steve’s nipples, and Steve sucks in a sharp breath. “Good?” Clint asks.

“Y-yeah,” Steve agrees, voice wobbly as Clint strokes over the same nipple again, more purposeful this time.

Clint brings his other hand up, stroking over Steve’s other nipple as he rolls the first between his thumb and forefinger, and Steve lets out a yelp that’s quickly followed by a groan. “You’re gonna kill me,” Steve says, which Clint finds _absurd._

Clint loses track of time, for a little, just amusing himself with pulling reactions from Steve. His nipples are sensitive, yes, but there’s also a spot near his collarbone that makes him melt if Clint bites it. Light touches across his stomach don’t get much reaction, but a firm drag of Clint’s fingers there makes him shudder. Clint wants to learn _everything _that makes Steve feel good, and part of that, beyond being an attentive lover, is because Steve’s reactions are so vocal and beautiful to watch.

Steve, for his part, doesn’t try to rush things, despite the fact that he must be getting desperate by now. So, Clint takes pity on him and drags him into the bedroom before undoing Steve’s pants. His dick is straining against his briefs, and Clint can’t help but wrap a hand around it through the fabric, feeling it hot against his palm. Steve groans and begs, “Please…”

“Please what?” Clint asks. “That wasn’t very specific.”

Steve’s eyes, which had fallen closed, open enough to narrow at Clint. Clint, unrepentant, starts to stroke Steve’s dick through the fabric until Steve’s eyes falls shut again. “Please, more,” he whimpers.

It’s a slight elaboration. “You’re giving me a lot of artistic license,” Clint points out. He drops to his knees, shoves Steve’s briefs down as he goes, before sucking the head of Steve’s cock into his mouth—he’s pretty sure he manages to do it before Steve has even realized what he’s doing.

“Fuck, Clint!” Steve cries out, and Clint feels a rush of satisfaction zing through him.

Clint takes his time sucking Steve off, waiting until Steve’s boneless under him to suck him fast and dirty, making him come before he can even warn Clint.

Clint swallows him down easily, and then he stands up, watching Steve blink at him sated and warm. “I’m gonna fuck you now,” Clint tells him. “Do you want to be on your front or your back?”

“Wanna see you,” Steve tells him.

“Okay, baby, we can do that,” Clint promises him easily. He corrals Steve over to the edge of the bed, tips him over onto his back, nudging him into the center of the bed, then he crawls on top of him. He kisses Steve and grinds their cocks together, pressure and a slick slide eased by Clint’s still-wet spit on Steve’s cock.

Clint reaches under his pillow for the lube he’d stashed—it never hurts to be prepared—before settling back between Steve’s legs.

He nudges Steve’s knees up and out until his hole is exposed. After a moment’s consideration, he grabs a pillow and stuffs it underneath Steve, propping him up a bit to make everything that much easier.

He warms the slick between his fingers and kisses Steve’s knee, then up his leg. “I’d like to rim you some day,” he tells Steve, not quite managing a conversational tone between the tenderness and the heat that are already warring for dominance. “Lick and suck at your hole until you come, and then fuck you with my tongue before fingering you open for my cock. Would you like that?” Steve mewls, a faint sound, and Clint sighs happily. He circles Steve’s hole with his index finger and Steve whimpers. “Yeah,” he agrees. “We’ll do that. Maybe I’ll tie you up all pretty so you can’t move, can’t get anything more or less than what I want to give you. Have you at my mercy.”

On the last word, he breaches the tight ring of muscle with his finger, sliding in to the first knuckle. Steve cries out, already so sensitive and overstimulated. Clint strokes Steve’s cock with his other hand. Steve arches into the sensation and then away when it quickly becomes too much for him, back onto Clint’s finger, shoving it deeper inside him.

“That feels good, doesn’t it, baby? My hand on your cock, my finger inside of you. I’m gonna fuck you with my fingers nice and slow, get you all stretched out and desperate for my cock before I fuck you. Doesn’t that sound good, baby?”

Steve’s eyes are screwed shut, his head thrown back, and he’s letting out little whimpers, interspersed with “please” and Clint’s name.

Clint finally, achingly slowly, gets his finger all the way into Steve’s ass, and he begins to move it in and out, teasing him more than anything.

Steve’s hips don’t know what to do, move into the pressure on his cock or the finger that’s gently fucking into him, to try to speed it up even when he knows Clint won’t let him.

Clint gives him a second finger, and Steve arches up, letting out a happy sigh. “You’re so gorgeous,” Clint tells him. “You like that, don’t you? My fingers in your ass, stretching you for my cock?”

Steve nods instead of verbally replying—it seems like his only words now _are _“please” and “Clint”—and Clint rewards him with a crook of his fingers, finding that sweet spot and stroking over it. Steve cries out, and Clint does it again, and again, and again.

He gets a little distracted, if he’s honest, watching Steve cry out, his hips jerking, his body tensing as he tries to keep himself from coming because Clint hasn’t given him permission yet.

“I’m gonna fuck you either way,” Clint tells him. “But if you want, you can come.”

Steve shudders at the words, and then Clint strokes over his prostate once more and he’s coming over Clint’s hand, dick hot and pulsing.

Clint strokes him through it, keeps fucking him with his fingers, and soon Steve’s squirming under Clint, little whines leaving his throat every time Clint strokes his mostly softened cock. “Do you think you can get it up again?” Clint asks him. “How many times _can _you come? We should find out sometime. I can tie you down and make you come with my mouth and hands until you don’t know whether to beg me to stop or to keep going.”

Steve’s crying now from all the sensations, but Clint can’t bring himself to stop, because Steve hasn’t safeworded and, well, he’s so pretty when he cries.

He continues fucking his fingers in Steve’s ass a few times before adding a third finger, and Steve lets out a whine at the stretch. “You look so good stretched around my fingers, baby,” Clint tells him. “Taking whatever I give you like the good slut you are.”

Steve’s cock twitches, and Clint grins. “You like that, do you? When I call you my slut?” Steve whimpers and nods his head, eyes still shut, tears leaking from both sides, his mouth hanging open as he gasps in air like it can soothe the fire in his oversensitive nerves. “Of course you do,” Clint tells him. “Because what else would I call you, when you come from just my fingers in your ass? You’re such a desperate, needy little thing.” Steve whines again, and Clint nods. “You’ve been so good for me, though,” he says. “You deserve a reward, don’t you?”

He pulls his fingers out of Steve’s ass, stroking over his hole as he does. Steve sobs. “Don’t worry,” Clint reassures him. “I’m gonna give you something even better.”

He slicks up his cock and lines up with Steve’s hole, the blunt pressure against the head of his cock torturously good. “Just relax, baby,” Clint tells him. “Be a good little slut and take it for me.”

Steve whimpers but relaxes slowly, less tense but still twitching as Clint continues to stroke his cock. It’s getting hard again, but Clint lets go in favor of holding Steve’s leg steady as he presses in, pace so slow it’s glacial.

It takes an inordinate amount of self-control to not just thrust in the rest of the way, to go slow until he bottoms out and then… then to _wait. _He remains still until Steve’s squirming on his cock, hips rolling as he tries to get Clint to move_._

“If you’re patient and good, I’ll fuck you nice and slow, fill you with my cock until you can’t think about anything else,” Clint tells Steve.

Steve’s beyond stopping, though; Clint’s not even sure the rolls of his hips are voluntary. “Another time, then,” Clint tells him, and then pulls out and thrusts back in, hard and fast, Steve moans.

Clint sets a brutal pace, hands gripping Steve’s hips to keep him from sliding up the bed. Steve’s hands fist in the sheets, tears pushed from his closed eyes every time Clint slams in.

“Fuck,” Clint groans. “You feel so good.”

Steve’s hard again, precum beading at the tip of his cock, and Clint wants to come, but more than that, he wants to make Steve come _again__._

“Are you gonna come again, baby?” Clint’s tone manages to be both taunting and sweet. “Can you do that for me? Can you come on just my cock?”

“Clint!” Steve cries out, and then he’s coming. There’s less cum overall this time, but it’s still impressive that he was able to give so much in such a short period of time.

His ass clenches down around Clint as he comes, and Clint groans. “Fuck, Steve,” he grits out, and then he’s coming too.

He likes these orgasms the best, when he’s put his own off for so long that when it finally hits him, he’s blinking back stars. He slumps down and his weight pushes Steve’s knees back to his chest. Clint kisses Steve’s stomach under him, breathes until his body remembers how to support itself, and then he slowly pulls away.

Steve’s reaching for him immediately. Clint _should _clean them up, but he also doesn’t want to deny Steve the cuddling he so clearly wants.

So Clint ignores the mess and crawls up the bed, lying down next to Steve and coaxing him over onto Clint until the solid weight of a heavy, exhausted supersoldier presses half on top of him. He strokes a hand over Steve’s back and pets his hair. “You did so good,” he tells him. “You were so good for me.”

Steve nuzzles closer to Clint, head in the crook of Clint’s neck, and Clint holds him close.

Clint doesn’t fall asleep; he does drift a little bit, content to hold Steve and pet his hair while Steve dozes. That means he feels when Steve starts to wake, breathing picking up and body shifting incrementally. “Hey,” Clint greets softly.

“Hi,” Steve says, his face still pressed into Clint’s neck. His arm tightens its hold on Clint’s waist a little—apparently he doesn’t want to move away yet, and Clint’s fine with that.

They snuggle for at least another ten minutes before Steve rolls away. “Can I use your shower?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Clint agrees. “Through there.”

He watches Steve walk away, and man, that _is _America’s ass.

Clint rolls over onto a pillow and drifts off to the sound of the shower in the other room.

\--

Clint doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up to Steve coming back into the bedroom. “You good?” Clint asks Steve.

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Fuck, I feel… relaxed.”

“Good,” Clint says, moving so he’s sitting up. “Lemme get you some water, though, you probably need it.”

He goes to the kitchen and comes back with two full glasses of cold water, drinking his own down in a few large gulps before setting it aside. Steve drinks his more slowly, and when he finishes, he holds on to the cup.

“Did Bucky talk to you?” Clint asks, partly because he’s curious and partly to fill the silence.

“About what?”

“About watching us.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

Clint shrugs. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I’m confused,” Steve admits.

“Bucky and I had a conversation while you were gone. He said he was interested in watching us have sex; I said it was fine with me, and that he should talk to you about it. He hasn’t brought it up since, so I was just wondering if he had.”

Steve’s frowning now. “I didn’t even know he’d be interested in something like that.”

Clint shrugs. “Me neither.”

“But… why hasn’t he talked to me?”

Clint shrugs again. “I can’t speak for him, but my guess? It’s one thing to admit he might want to do it when he thought I was gonna tell him no, but it’s another thing entirely to be told he might actually be able to do it. He’s probably figuring out whether it’s something he really wants, and if it’s something he’s comfortable doing. He wants to know how he feels, for real, before he talks to you and makes it even more real.”

Steve’s quiet for a few minutes. “Huh,” he says finally. “You really get him.”

Clint shrugs. “I’ve been through some shit, and I’ve also been through a lot of therapy to get me through said shit. Makes me okay with some people, sometimes, especially if their heads are fucky.”

Steve looks contemplative, studying Clint in a way that makes him unusually uncomfortable, like he can see deep into Clint’s soul. “So, uh, did you want to stick around and watch a movie, or…?”

Steve smiles softly at him, like he knows that Clint’s changing the conversation, knows why he’s doing it so abruptly. “Sounds nice,” he agrees anyway. “Can we…” Clint tilts his head, a silent question, when Steve’s voice trails off. “Can we cuddle?” Steve’s flushing, now, the pink in his cheeks darkening to red and spreading down his neck. “It’s nice, is all.”

“Yeah, of course,” Clint agrees. “I love cuddling.”

They settle in with a mindless action movie, Steve tucked under Clint’s arm, Clint’s fingers tracing patterns on Steve’s chest. It’s warm and cozy, being able to touch someone, be close to someone, in a non-sexual way. Nat does her best, but she’s touch averse where Clint’s touch starved, and the rest of the team doesn’t really _do _this with each other.

“Wanna invite Bucky to come join the cuddle pile?”

“Nah,” Steve says, the word stretched out around a yawn. “He’s out with Sam doing something dumb.”

“What’s that?”

Steve shrugs, a small movement. “I dunno, but when you put the two of them together? It’s always something dumb.”

Clint laughs softly. “Okay. Maybe next time.”

Steve’s quiet for a minute. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Sounds nice.”

The movie is terrible, but by the time Steve leaves Clint’s rooms a couple of hours later, Clint’s more relaxed than he’s been in… fuck, years, probably.

He’s pretty sure that maybe, just possibly, this arrangement was the best idea that’s ever been had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: discussion of voyeurism, orgasm delay/denial, light humiliation (Clint calls Steve a slut, Steve likes it)


	3. Chapter 3

Now that they’re making this a somewhat regular thing, Clint emails Steve a kink checklist and tells him to fill it out. He attaches his own, already filled out, so that Steve won’t feel like Clint’s asking him for something he isn’t willing to share himself, but tells Steve not to read it until after he’s filled his out, so he won’t be swayed by Clint’s preferences at all.

Steve shows up outside Clint’s door two hours later, a couple of sheets of printed papers in his hand, a flush high on his cheeks, eyes a little bit wild. “I don’t know what some of this stuff is.”

Clint quirks an eyebrow. “You could have googled?”

Steve’s blush deepens. “I—you’re right, I can—”

“No, it’s fine.” Clint reaches out and closes his hand over Steve’s arm, grip light, not holding him back from trying to leave, but instead giving him a reason to pause. “I can try to explain some of it to you? We might want to google some of it, though.”

Steve nods, a jerky motion. “Please.”

Clint nods back, tugging Steve gently into his apartment and kicking the door shut behind them. “C’mon, let’s sit on the couch.”

They spend the next few hours going through the list. It’s a lot of fun, especially the part where Clint gets to watch Steve’s reactions to different kinks, ranging from _why would anyone do that?! _to _unngh fuck. _

Clint takes careful note of all of the ones that make Steve go _unngh fuck, _and he starts making _plans. _

\--

The next time they meet up for sex is after a mission. Steve nudges Clint and sends him a heated glance, head tilted in question, and Clint nods, because he’s always got too much adrenaline to work off after a mission. Sex with Steve definitely beats hours on the range or in the gym when he’s already tired and sore.

Clint showers and changes into loose pants and a soft shirt, fully anticipating that they won’t be on his body long if things go as planned.

He has ideas—more than ideas, he has _plans—_but he doesn’t want to push things too far too fast. So he waits until Steve shows up, downing a cup of coffee just to make sure that his energy doesn’t flag in the middle of _things, _because that would suck.

He’s barely been sitting on the couch for five minutes, pretending to read a book but actually just staring at the page, imagination in overdrive, when there’s a knock on his door.

He feels like he might vibrate out of his own skin. He takes a steadying breath, and then he opens the door, to find Steve looking delectable.

He’s, like, just in workout clothes, but he’s also _Steve Rogers, _so he’s always delectable.

“Hey,” Clint says, moving back so Steve can enter the apartment.

“Hey,” Steve says, voice a little rough. “Can we—” He cuts himself off, a blush coloring his cheeks, and Clint grins.

“What? You gotta ask me for what you want, if you want to have a hope of getting it.”

“Can you tie me up?” Steve’s chin tilts up in a challenging way when he says the words, like he can use his posture to counter the visible heat in his cheeks.

Clint’s breath hitches as the full force of how badly he _wants _to slams into him. “Fuck yeah,” he breathes out. “Shit, yeah, let’s do that.”

He snags Steve’s hand and tugs him toward the bedroom, strides quick in his eagerness. Steve’s fast to match his pace, fingers twining through Clint’s as they go with a softness in contrast to their carnal excitement.

When Clint lets go of Steve’s hand, leaving him in the doorway of his bedroom, Steve tugs off his shirt unasked. Clint would chastise him for not waiting for orders, but he’s too busy drooling over Steve’s chest. Even battered and bruised, with a couple of shallow cuts here and there that the suit didn’t completely shield him from, he’s gorgeous.

Clint’s touching before he even processes that his brain has told his hands to move, stroking over Steve’s pecs, thumbs catching against his nipples. Steve’s breath hitches, and Clint’s cock throbs in his pants. “Fuck, _look _at you,” Clint murmurs, tongue darting out to wet at his bottom lip. “You’re gorgeous.”

Clint’s thumb brushes over Steve’s other nipple as his other hand slips lower, teasing across his stomach, dipping just a little under his waistband. Steve’s dick is hard and straining at his pants, trying to escape, and Clint wants to put his mouth on it.

But. Plans.

He pulls back. “Finish getting undressed,” he suggests, the faintest hint of an order in his tone, and then he says, “Sit on the edge of the bed when you’re ready.”

Clint’s tall enough that he’s still more than a head above Steve, even when the height of his absurdly tall fancy bed is factored in. “Cross your arms behind your back,” Clint says, even as he’s guiding Steve’s arms into place. “Just like that, you’re being so good for me.”

He ties a more complex chest harness than he needs to, one with crossing diagonals down Steve’s arms and back, leaving him thoroughly at Clint’s mercy. Clint’s pretty sure that honestly, even with Steve’s strength he couldn’t escape this; it’s too intricate and, if Clint does say so himself, too well done.

The focus on making sure everything goes where it’s supposed to, of seeing the ropes against Steve’s skin, settles something in Clint. The sensation seems to settle Steve as well, whether it’s the soft brushes of Clint’s hands against his skin, the lingering touch of the ropes, or the way they’re holding him in place, holding him steady. By the time Clint finishes, they’re both breathing deep and even.

Clint moves to stand in front of Steve, eyes raking over his form. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” Steve breathes out on a small sigh. “Nice.” He rolls his shoulders, or tries to, but the ropes prevent him from making the full motion. He shivers.

“You cold?” Clint asks, and before Steve can answer, he says, “Bet I can warm you up.”

He strokes across Steve’s chest and stomach, fingers catching on the ropes, and Steve sucks in a breath. “I have an idea,” he tells Steve. “Think you’re up for it?”

He tweaks one of Steve’s nipples before Steve can reply, and Steve sucks in a breath. “What—fuck—what is it?”

“I want to see if you can come just from me playing with your nipples,” Clint tells him.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers. “I dunno if I can.”

“That’s fine,” Clint tells him. “We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

“Fuck,” Steve whispers again. “Yeah, do it.”

Clint takes his time, kissing Steve and petting him, fisting a hand in his hair and tugging it back to expose his neck. Clint kisses down it, fingers still caressing over the ropes across Steve’s chest, only ghosting across Steve’s nipples on occasion, and barely.

It doesn’t take long to get Steve entirely worked up, between the anticipation of more and the relentless teasing. He begins to whimper every time Clint brushes fingers near his nipples without touching them, trying to shift his body to get Clint’s fingers where he wants them and failing to get the leverage because of the ropes. “Fuck,” Steve whispers finally. “Clint, please.”

“Hm,” Clint says, contemplating. “But I’m having fun like this.”

“Please,” Steve repeats, soft and whiny. It’s a beautiful sound; Clint wants to hear it forever.

Clint can’t help but give in, at least for the moment, pinching Steve’s right nipple between his fingers and rolling it. Steve cries out, arching up as best as he can into the sensation. “Fuck, yes, like that,” Steve babbles after he takes a breath. “Fuck, Clint, more.”

“You can beg all you want,” Clint tells him, rather magnanimously, he thinks. “But I won’t give you more until I’m ready.”

Steve whines. “Fuck, Clint—” he starts to protest, but he cuts off when Clint’s mouth returns to sucking bruises on the side of his neck and his fingers find Steve’s other nipple, rolling it between them.

Steve’s hips can’t jerk up because he’s sitting, and he can’t arch his chest because of the ropes. Instead, he whimpers when he tries to move and finds he can’t, and his cock jumps because he _likes _it.

“That’s right,” Clint murmurs against Steve’s skin. “You like it when I tell you no, don’t you?”

Steve whines and doesn’t answer. That’s okay; Clint doesn’t need Steve to say it when his body gives him away.

Clint moves lower, sucking one of Steve’s nipples into his mouth, fingers ghosting circles around the other. Steve squirms under him, unable to get any friction against his cock with the careful way Clint’s angling his own body away from Steve’s. He pulls his mouth away from its task to say, “Now, none of that. I told you how I’m going to get you off. Come on, just take it for me baby.”

Steve’s body goes lax immediately. “Please, Clint,” he begs.

“Mm, yeah, just like that,” Clint praises him, and then he sucks Steve’s nipple back into his mouth.

He pinches one nipple and bites the other at the same time, and he’s shocked when that’s all it takes for Steve to come.

Now that Steve’s come, Clint has no reason not to touch his cock, so he reaches down and milks him through the orgasm. “So beautiful,” Clint tells him, other hand coming up to smear the cum that’s streaked across Steve’s stomach and abs. “You were so good for me, so I’ll give you a choice,” he continues. He keeps stroking Steve’s cock, and Steve’s letting out quiet whimpers now, overstimulated even as his cock hardens once more. “Do you want to suck me off, or do you want me to fuck you like this?”

“Fuck,” Steve whispers. He’s still whining high in his throat with each stroke; Clint’s mesmerized. He wants to drag these noises out of Steve for _hours. _“I wanna suck you off,” Steve decides. “Please, may I?”

“So polite,” Clint murmurs. “Yes, of course.” He drops a pillow on the floor and discards his pants, kicking them aside to deal with later. He helps Steve get into a kneeling position between Clint’s legs, and then he sits on the very edge of the bed, dick in Steve’s face.

Steve’s eyes are wide and his pupils are blown and he looks fucking hot. His tongue darts out to lick at the head of Clint’s dick where precum has beaded at the slit, and it startles Clint into laughing. “You’re a little shit,” he accuses. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

“Didn’t say I couldn’t,” Steve points out.

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Nice try. You know that’s not how this works.” He considers that, considers what punishment might be fitting. “Just for that, I’m not gonna fuck your face, not right away. I’m not gonna help you at all. You gotta figure out how to do this all tied up pretty for me.” He cups Steve’s jaw, stroking over his cheek and across his full lips that are red from being bitten—by Clint’s kisses, but also by himself. “You think you can do that for me?”

He knows Steve Rogers likes nothing more than a challenge. Steve absolutely doesn’t disappoint, nodding once before opening his mouth and sucking Clint down like giving head is an Olympic sport.

That’s not to say it’s the best blow job Clint’s ever gotten. Steve can’t hold the base of his dick to keep it steady in his mouth, can’t use his arms to give himself leverage or balance. It’s sloppy and Clint’s dick slides out of Steve’s mouth entirely a few times, Steve pouting adorably every time.

But it’s a gold medal worthy effort, and Clint eventually takes pity on him, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair. “You’ve done so good,” he tells him. “You’re so good for me, baby. I’m gonna fuck your face now, okay? Just like you like.”

Steve moans around his cock, and Clint sucks in a breath. That’s all the encouragement he needs. He control’s Steve’s movements with his grip on Steve’s head, and Steve continues working him over with his tongue, and sucking, and taking him deep in his throat. It doesn’t take long before Clint says, “Fuck, that’s so good, I’m gonna—” and spills down Steve’s throat.

Steve swallows what he can and Clint pulls out with the last weak pulses of his cock, spilling the last of his cum across Steve’s lips and cheeks.

Steve looks unfairly hot kneeling in front of Clint, tied up and with Clint’s cum painted across his face, eyes wide and glassy and the tiniest bit triumphant. Clint’s dick twitches in interest and he hisses at the sensation. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he tells Steve, moving the hand that’s fisted in his hair so that he’s instead cupping Steve’s cheek again, calloused fingers and palm smearing the across Steve’s skin.

They rest like that for a minute, Clint catching his breath, and then he says, “Do you want to lick yourself clean, or should I?”

Steve moans, a low and broken sound, and his tongue darts out immediately. He licks his lips, lapping up all the cum he can reach. “Good boy,” Clint says. He pulls his hand away from Steve’s cheek and licks a stripe up his hand, relishing Steve’s whimper at watching Clint taste his own cum. He slides off the bed so that he’s kneeling in front of Steve, only slightly taller than him now, and kisses him deep and filthy, chasing the taste of himself in Steve’s mouth. When he breaks away, Steve’s mouth stays open, his eyes closed, and Clint tilts his head to the side. Steve goes easily, pliant in Clint’s hands, and Clint licks across his cheekbones, thorough in his cleaning as he licks away the streaks of cum that Steve couldn’t reach.

Steve is whimpering softly when Clint tilts his head the other way, licking that side of his face clean as well.

Clint pulls away and eases around Steve, carefully unknotting and unlooping all the ties holding him up. Steve leans into Clint’s hands as he works, and when Clint’s done, he stays there, on his knees, holding Steve up and alternating between rubbing his arms to help his circulation after being tied up and petting his hair for a few minutes.

After a few minutes pass, Clint says, “C’mon, bed.” He rises to his feet and helps Steve up, helps him make the short distance to the bed. He lays down and pulls Steve down on top of him, and then Steve’s warm weight across his chest lulls him to sleep.

\--

When Clint wakes up, Steve’s still asleep across his chest. It’s a little hard to breathe with Steve’s bulk across his diaphragm, but he makes do.

He can’t resist stroking over Steve’s skin, the faint marks from the ropes crisscrossing over bruises from the fight, but all of the marks slowly fading under the force of Steve’s accelerated healing.

Only a few minutes after Clint wakes, Steve stirs. “Hey,” Clint says, voice a little rough from sleep and sex.

“Hey,” Steve replies, voice much less rough—damn you, accelerated healing factor. Well, not really, but, c’mon, Clint should get to appreciate the results of his efforts for at least a _little _longer.

Steve shifts a little against Clint, and Clint winces at the dry and sticky mess on both of their skin. “We’re gross,” Clint says with a grimace.

Steve shrugs. “Eh, good sex always leaves you gross.”

Clint would beg to differ; in his opinion, it should always be the dominant partner’s job to clean them both up before they fall asleep, especially if their submissive partner has given their dom the pleasure of thoroughly wrecking them. But he can see how Steve would prioritize closeness over being clean, and he can respect that. He makes a mental note to find a balance between what both of them wants.

“You know what we haven’t done yet?”

“What’s that?” Clint asks.

Steve grins, wicked. “Shower sex.”

“Well, I’d hate to miss that opportunity,” Clint says, even though he’s not 100% sure he can get it up again this soon. It’s been _maybe _an hour, and he’s not in his twenties anymore—he’s _barely_ still in his thirties. He smacks a hand lightly against Steve’s ass and says, “Well? What are you waiting for?”

Steve grins, big and bright and pleased, like he’s won something, and it’s a punch to the gut, that just the opportunity for sex with Clint can make him _that _happy.

Clint knows that he’s attractive, and he knows that he’s good at sex. But he also knows that his self-worth is not the highest, and while he may _know _those things, he doesn’t always _feel _them.

Being with Steve? It makes him feel all kinds of sexy and worthwhile.

It’s… different. He’s not used to it. It’s… probably good? Good enough that he’s going to keep doing this until he figures it out, at least.

\--

For all the sex Clint has had in his life (which is _a lot), _he doesn’t often have shower sex. There’s a certain intimacy about it that’s always made him somewhat uncertain, and while it’s fun, it usually just stresses him out.

He’s been in showers with Steve, before, when the whole team has been shoved into decontamination showers after fighting overgrown lizards that spit chemically dangerous substances—Clint’s still impressed he, a squishy human with no powers, didn’t die from exposure, and he’s still kind of waiting for some kind of insidious damage to crop up—and other situations like that one. And he’s had sex with Steve, and he’s friends with Steve, and all of that makes him hope that it’ll be more fun than weirdly stressful.

It’s… both? It’s definitely weird, but in a new and different way. It’s a whole new way to experience Steve, seeing water sluicing down his body, bringing attention to new areas of skin that Clint previously hadn’t focused on much—his nipples and pecs and washboard abs, yes, but also his hipbones and clavicles, and, what the fuck? Are clavicles supposed to be sexy? Or is Steve just _that _hot? Because it’s doing it for Clint; he wants to get his mouth on Steve and lick him all over.

“Fuck,” Clint says, after a few moments of being dazed and turned on. “You gotta hurry up getting clean so I can suck your dick.”

“Why bother, if I’m just gonna get dirty again?”

Clint pictures that, the taste of cum mixing with water on Steve’s cock, and he groans. But, “nope, clean first,” he says, and Steve complies easily.

Clint takes out his hearing aids and climbs in after Steve.

Steve may be doing what Clint said, but he’s doing it in the most teasing way possible. Clint’s so hard he thinks he’s gonna pass out by the time Steve’s done, _ages _later, and then Steve asks, clearly so that Clint can read his lips, “Can I wash you?”

It’s _not hot. _At least, that’s what Clint’s telling his dick, because his dick _definitely _thinks it’s hot.

Fuck.

Clint swallows and says, “Yeah, fuck, do that.”

Steve absolutely does not help with making it not hot enough to melt Clint’s brains and make them leak out of his ears—although _that _particular thought absolutely does help, so, brain’s still good for something, good brain.

But Steve. Steve touches Clint _everywhere, _firm but gentle touches of skin on skin, and Clint’s not used to this, used to the way Steve’s eyes are dark and intent, the way he seems almost reverent. Clint’s not… No one’s ever thought he was worth this kind of reverence, of worship, and it’s lighting up Clint’s brain like fireworks.

Clint almost misses it when Steve speaks again, but switches his brain on in time to catch the last couple of words. “—suck you off?” Steve asks, when he’s done and Clint’s maybe the cleanest he’s ever been in his life.

“Yeah.” Clint’s voice comes out harsh, wavers on the one syllable, and he thinks—is this all it takes to wreck _me? _

Steve backs Clint up against the wall and carefully drops to his knees, water still pounding down on him, and brackets Clint’s hips as he presses his hands to the wall. Clint pushes his fingers through Steve’s wet hair, not pulling, just feeling the softness and the movement as Steve bobs his head.

Steve doesn’t rush to take Clint apart, using predictable movements and steady pressure to slowly build him toward his orgasm. Clint leans back against the cold tile at some point, unsure that his balance will remain steady without some support, and he closes his eyes when watching Steve gets to be too much. Steve keeps glancing up at him every few seconds, heat and pleasure and appreciation in his gaze, and it’s _too much. _

When Clint comes, it crashes over him like a wave breaking against the shore, his toes curling as he’s overwhelmed by it. For a few moments, he’s not aware of the water beating against them or Steve’s mouth on his cock, he’s just blissed out.

He returns to himself all at once, the water still beating against him, Steve’s mouth no longer on him, but Steve’s hands pinning his hips to the wall—hold him up.

“I think you sucked my brains out of my dick,” Clint says, awed. Steve blushes and ducks his head, hands sliding away from Clint’s hips now that Clint’s legs can support him once more.

Not that they _need _to—not for long, anyway. Clint nudges at Steve with his knee. “C’mon, up, I wanna suck your brain out through your dick this time.”

Clint sees the movement in Steve’s shoulders as he huffs a small laugh, but he clambers to his feet. Clint hooks arms around his waist and spins them so that Steve’s against the wall. Clint sinks easily to his knees—and yes, maybe another reason he doesn’t do shower sex is that he’s clumsy, but he’s okay, mostly, if he focuses on not falling—and licks up the underside of Steve’s dick, nuzzles against his hipbone. “You can put your hands in my hair,” he says, “but no trying to move me.”

Clint glances up in time to see Steve nod. A hand that is both improbably large and gentle comes up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling through Clint’s short hair as much as they can.

Clint’s body still feels heavy and tingly, nerves shocked with every drop of water that lands on him. He swallows Steve down and revels in the taste of him, the feel of the thick cock pressing down on his tongue.

He doesn’t make it _slow, _but he does draw it out, fast and hard until he can tell Steve’s about to orgasm, then pulling back and easing him away from the edge. He keeps at it until Steve’s a mess above him, panting and desperate, and only then does Clint get him off.

He swallows what he can and allows the rest to spill down his chin, grins up at Steve dirty and pleased, and asks, “So, did I?”

It takes Steve a few moments to catch his breath—he’s more out of breath now than he is after running thirty miles, and Clint’s _very _proud of himself, wow—before he asks, still enunciating carefully so Clint can read his lips, “Did you what?”

“Did I suck your brain out through your dick?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah,” he agrees, “You did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content: bondage, nipple play, orgasm delay/denial, multiple orgasms


	4. Chapter 4

Clint’s not expecting anyone; he’s just lounging in some sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, ratty sneakers on because he went for a run recently and was too lazy to take them off, watching TV with captions on and fiddling with some fletching on some hand-made arrows. So, when Jarvis flashes the lights to let Clint know that there’s someone outside of his door, aware he’d taken off his hearing aids to give his ears a break, Clint’s confused.

Still, he sets the arrows and fletching aside and picks up his aids, putting them in as he pads over to the door.

He answers it to find Steve on the other side, looking anxious and tense and generally miserable. “Sorry,” is the first word out of his mouth.

“Hey,” Clint says. “What’s up?”

“It’s stupid.”

Clint hums. “Okay, well, I’m stupid like eighty percent of the time—and that’s being generous—so I’m sure it’ll be fine if you tell me.”

“You’re not dumb,” Steve says, momentarily derailed.

Clint shrugs. “What’s up?”

Steve looks like he’s going to argue, but Clint raises an eyebrow, and he deflates. “I just can’t relax? I tried doing soothing things. I punched a punching bag until it broke. I ran twenty miles. Nothing’s working. I don’t know what to do.” Steve looks like he’s so frustrated he might cry, and Clint…

Well, Clint gets it. “Okay,” he says. “Come in. Sex or no sex?”

“Sex is fine,” Steve says, but Clint can sense there’s more. He waits. He’s good at being patient—sniper skill—he just doesn’t often bother with it. “I just mostly need to not be in my head for a while.”

“Okay,” Clint agrees easily. “I can help you with that.”

He reaches out to touch Steve, firm but gentle, and guides him over next to the couch. Clint shoves the coffee table back, out of the way, and says, “Would you like to be undressed?”

Steve swallows thickly. “I—I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Okay,” Clint agrees easily. “I’m gonna take care of you. Do you trust me?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t.”

“You did so good, coming to me,” Clint praises. Steve ducks his head, pleased. “I’ve got you, baby.” Clint cups Steve’s jaw, telegraphs the kiss before he leans in, just a soft press of his lips against Steve’s. Steve doesn’t melt into it, but his tension does ease some.

Steve’s still in his gym clothes, just a tight shirt and thin sweatpants that Clint knows without even having to look perfectly hug the curves of his ass. Clint reaches down to snag the hem of Steve’s shirt and tugs it up over his head, breaking their kiss long enough to get it off and toss it aside, and then he’s kissing Steve again, hands roving over him. When he pulls back, he says, “We’re gonna try something, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees without even a hint of wariness or hesitation.

Clint snags a pillow off the couch, one he uses when he falls asleep out here because his bed seems impossibly far sometimes, and drops it on the floor. He settles back into his seat, the pillow between his spread legs, and says, “I want you to kneel.”

Steve looks hesitant, but he does as asked, kneeling at Clint’s feet. He must know what he’s doing at least a little bit, because he drops into position easily, arms crossed behind his back. “Good,” Clint praises, and he reaches out, running his hand through Steve’s hair. “Just try to relax, okay?”

Clint’s TV is still playing quietly, so Clint alternates between watching Steve and watching that. At first, Steve remains tense, but as time passes, his breathing evens out and some of his tension melts. They stay like that for a while, Clint sometimes petting Steve’s hair but mostly letting him drift.

After a while longer, Steve starts to get slightly restless. “What is it?” Clint asks him. Steve whines low in his throat but doesn’t say anything, so Clint rephrases. “What do you need?” He cups Steve’s chin and tilts his head up until his eyes can meet Clint’s.

Steve’s are wide and glassy and beautiful. He shivers when their gazes meet, and he says, “I need—I need—” But he can’t seem to get the words out.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Clint soothes him, stroking Steve’s cheek with his thumb. “Does it hurt?” Steve shakes his head in the negative. “Do you need something to focus on?” Steve nods, breath hitching. “Okay,” Clint agrees.

He has an idea. It wasn’t high on Steve’s list as something he was into, but it wasn’t a soft or a hard no, either. He’d marked it as willing to try—so, Clint decides, they’ll try it. If Steve doesn’t like it, he’ll say something, and they’ll stop.

Clint makes sure not to telegraph his nerves, not wanting to upset Steve or make him wary, and says evenly, “We’re going to try something new, okay baby? I want you to tell me if you don’t like it.”

Steve nods, so Clint taps Steve’s cheek with his thumb and says, “Open.”

Steve’s mouth drops open immediately. Clint has to take a moment to admire the beautiful picture he makes, but then the moment passes, and Clint pushes up on his elbows so he can shove his sweatpants down his hips.

His cock slips free, half hard. Clint reaches out to card his fingers through Steve’s hair and guide his head closer, until Clint can feel Steve’s hot breath on his dick. It twitches in interest, and Clint mentally tells it to shut up, because it’s going to get what it wants, but only kind of. “I want you to hold my cock in your mouth,” Clint tells Steve. “You can focus on the feel of it on your tongue, the taste in your mouth, when you start to get restless. I don’t want you to do anything except hold it there, okay?”

Steve seems to realize he can’t nod with Clint holding his head in place. He blinks, swallows, and says, “Okay.”

“Good boy,” Clint tells him. He uses one hand at the base of his dick and the other around the back of Steve’s head to guide him forward until he’s settled in between Clint’s knees, leaning forward, Clint’s cock resting in his mouth.

Steve’s mouth is warm and wet and sinfully perfect. Clint sighs as Steve’s lips close around him, just holding.

_Fuck. _

Clint doesn’t drift; if anything, he becomes even more aware of everything, from his heartbeat to Steve’s inhales to the feel of Steve’s soft hair under his fingers. Which is why, an approximate eternity later, he glances down at just the right angle to notice that Steve’s cock is hard. His sweatpants are thin, and they do nothing to disguise the line of his cock as it attempts to escape their confines.

Clint can’t help but be quietly delighted. “You’re such a good little slut, aren’t you?” he asks, fingers still carding through Steve’s hair. “Getting hard just from holding my cock in your mouth.” Steve whines, and his dick jerks in his pants at Clint’s words.

Clint considers his options. He can’t shove his leg against Steve’s dick, because that will dislodge him from Clint’s cock. Instead, he angles his leg and shoves his shoe a breath away from Steve’s dick. “You can get off, my good boy,” Clint tells him. “But this is all the help I’m going to give you.” Steve whines again, hips jerking in an attempt to reach. Clint obligingly presses his shoe close against Steve’s crotch. “This is the only way you’ll be allowed to come tonight,” Clint warns him, “and you can’t take your mouth off of my cock.”

There’s drool pooling at the base of Clint’s dick. Steve makes a noise—affirmation?—and thrusts his hips forward, a tentative motion as he experiments with how much it moves him, with how _he _has to move himself to make sure his mouth remains exactly where it is, lips stretched around Clint’s now fully erect penis.

It’s hot. God, it’s _so hot. _Clint’s going to _die. _

Death by having sex with Steve Rogers, though? Probably the best way to go. He wants it written on is gravestone.

Clint watches, enraptured, as Steve finds his stride, thrusting desperately against Clint’s foot in an attempt to find enough friction to get off. “Such a good little slut,” Clint tells him. Steve whines, and Clint nods. “Just like that,” he agrees.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to come, and he shudders but holds his mouth carefully around Clint as he does, moaning long and low around Clint’s cock. Clint _almost _comes from the combined assault of the feeling and the sight of Steve’s own orgasm, the sight of Steve kneeling and desperate and so perfect between Clint’s legs.

And then he thinks, fuck it. Steve had wanted to get him off last time. “Do you want to make me come, baby?” he asks. “Be a good little slut for me?”

Steve moans, shifts restlessly, and ever so carefully nods, lips sliding along Clint’s dick with the movement.

“Okay,” Clint agrees easily. “You’ve been so good for me. Show me what that sweet mouth of yours can do.”

Steve doesn’t get the opportunity to showcase much of his skills; Clint comes too fast for that, already on edge. But what Steve does show him? _Damn. _

Clint is a lucky, lucky man.

He pulls Steve’s head away before he can come, cum instead spurting across Steve’s jaw and over his neck and chest. “You were so good for me,” Clint tells him as soon as he gets his breath back. “C’mere.”

He stands and moves aside, helping Steve more or less crawl onto the couch. Clint says, “I’ll be right back,” and goes to the bathroom, returning with a cloth to clean Steve off. He doesn’t bother with the mess in Steve’s pants; they’ll figure that out later.

Instead, he sits sideways on the couch, back against one of the armrests, and coaxes Steve into laying between his legs, back to Clint’s chest. Clint wraps his arms around him, holding him securely, and Steve’s head falls down under Clint’s chin.

“Are you tired?” Clint asks him. Steve nods. “Then sleep,” Clint tells him, a suggestion, not an order.

He feels Steve fall asleep shortly after, his breathing becoming even deeper. Clint rests his cheek against the top of Steve’s head and drifts, comfortable, warm, and content.

\--

Clint wakes up to Steve shifting on top of him—is it alarming that he’s becoming used to the weight of Steve on top of him? Eh, whatever.

“You good?” Clint asks, voice a bit rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” Steve says, pulling back from Clint. Clint curls his legs up so there’s a space on the couch for Steve to sit up. “Thanks.”

Clint grins. “Any time.” Steve rolls his eyes, and Clint huffs a small laugh. “Seriously, I’m glad you feel better, and you can come to me whenever.”

“Thanks,” Steve repeats, and it’s a little less awkward this time. Clint chalks that up as a win.

He stands and stretches, shoulders popping from the awkward position of sleeping on the couch, even if it was only for a couple hours. “Water?” he asks.

“Sure,” Steve replies easily, tipping his head back so he’s using the back of the couch like a pillow, eyes sliding shut. He looks peaceful and graceful and, of course, beautiful, like a marble statue come to life. _Fuck, _that’s almost poetic—this is what he’s reduced Clint to.

Clint gets water for Steve, and downs a cup of water himself before starting a pot of coffee. He sets the water down on the side table next to Steve, because he looks to peaceful to disturb.

Clint hovers in the kitchen, alternately watching Steve and pointedly _not _watching Steve, before pouring coffee and becoming thoroughly distracted by the life-giving nectar.

“Y’know, I somehow doubt coffee counts as hydrating after sex,” Steve says from the other room. It’s _just _loud enough for Clint to pick up with his hearing aids, and he’s impressed at Steve’s voice modulation, that he knows exactly how loud to be. Either they’ve been spending a lot of time together, or Steve’s just very quick at figuring things like that out.

Probably the second one—he’s a genius with patterns, after all.

“Yeah, well, I make plenty of questionable choices, coffee after sex barely even ranks.”

“You know, you undersell yourself. I haven’t forgotten what you said earlier. You’re not dumb.”

Clint groans and rubs a hand through his hair, because Steve’s eyes are still closed and he won’t see the gesture. “I know. Like, logically, I know. But I feel dumb, sometimes.”

“You’re almost as good at tactics as me,” Steve tells him. “And I can always trust you to have the best view of all the moving parts. You’re invaluable to this team.”

Clint… doesn’t know what to do with that. He takes his praise in backhanded compliments and physical responses; sincerity hasn’t been something he’s had a lot of practice dealing with. “Uh, thanks,” he says. “You hungry? I could make dinner.”

“Always,” Steve says, and Clint can see from this angle that there’s a small smirk on his face, like he _knows _Clint’s changing the subject.

Clint will just be glad Steve is _letting _him change the subject.

“Okay, cool,” Clint agrees. He sets about cooking dinner and putting that conversation out of his head.

After a while, Steve comes to sit at the island counter, asking Clint what he’s doing at each step and why, and it’s fun—it’s maybe one of the nicest nights Clint’s spent in years.

He enjoys it, doesn’t dwell on it, but he does wonder later, when Steve’s gone and he’s alone in bed trying to sleep, why he feels lonelier than he used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content: kneeling, subspace, cockwarming, light humiliation, there’s feet in a sexual context and if that’s a big squick for you please skip this chapter


	5. Chapter 5

When Steve and Bucky both show up at Clint’s door a couple of days later, Clint’s understandably confused.

His confusion is quickly cleared up when Steve says, “Bucky talked to me.”

Bucky looks uncomfortable but determined, the same way he used to look every time one of the Tower residents who wasn’t Steve talked to him.

“I take it you want to come in and tell me the results of that talk?” Clint hazards.

Bucky nods. Steve just continues looking pleased. Clint shrugs and steps aside, allowing them in before kicking the door shut and shooing them to the couches in his living room.

He doesn’t have much sitting space—not a lot when two of the people concerned are supersoldiers—but he takes one of the chairs and leaves the three-normal-person-sized couch for the two of them. “Okay, so?” he asks. “You don’t gotta rehash the whole talk, but give me the highlights?”

Steve nudges Bucky. Bucky shoots him a glare and then looks down at his hands. “Steve says he’d be okay with me watching.”

Steve looks _more _than okay with that fact. The fact that Steve is unbothered by Bucky’s hesitance makes Clint suspect it’s something surface level, rather than deeper. Or Steve’s oblivious, or he’s thinking with his dick.

“And that’s something you want to do? Like, for real, not just hypothetically?” Clint figures he owes it to Bucky to check: safe, sane, and consensual, after all.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, glancing up at Clint. His eyes are steady and intent, a contrast to his demeanor, so Clint figures it’s probably the surface level anxiety option re: Steve noticing Bucky’s mood.

“Okay then,” Clint agrees. “What things are you _not _into, so I know not to do them while you’re watching?”

Steve looks surprised—not in a bad way, but like he hadn’t even thought of that. Clint wants to roll his eyes, but he refrains.

Bucky looks centered, almost, by having a question to answer. “Name-calling,” he says easily. “I know I wouldn’t want to be hit, but I dunno how I feel about it when it’s other people.”

“Okay,” Clint agrees. “How about bondage? Dominance?”

“That’s fine.”

Clint thinks for a while, and then he nods. “Okay. But also, if you’re a part of this, even just watching, you gotta tell me if you don’t like something or you want us to stop. You can also leave at any point.”

Bucky nods. “I can do that.”

Clint knows it might feel different when they’re in the middle of a scene. He also knows it’s important to trust Bucky to know what he can handle. “Good. So, now?” He wouldn’t presume, but Steve’s practically vibrating in his seat.

Bucky seems to have notice too, if the way he rolls his eyes fondly is any indicator. “Yeah, sure,” he agrees.

“Bedroom, then,” Clint says. He considers for a moment before grabbing one of the stools from the island bar and dragging it into his bedroom and placing it in a corner with a good view of the room.

Excellent.

Bucky moves to it easily, reading Clint’s intent perfectly. He raises an eyebrow at Clint, as if to say _show me what you’ve got, then. _

Clint is not Steve Rogers. But Clint absolutely cannot hold back from a challenge issued by Bucky Barnes, so he might as well be in this moment.

He snags Steve’s arm and pulls Steve toward him, hands going to Steve’s hips. He dips his head the smallest amount and kisses Steve, hard and deep. Steve sighs into the kiss, crossing his hands behind his back, and Clint nips at his lip gently as a reward for the good behavior.

He backs Steve up until Steve’s pinned against the wall, next to the dresser. He breaks away long enough to say, “You can hold my waist.” He’d pulled back only far enough to talk, lips still brushing Steve’s as he speaks, and Steve shivers. Clint goes back to kissing him, a little more bite and urgency to it.

Steve’s hands curl around Clint’s waist and hold. Clint tests him, for a while, kissing him until he’s panting when Clint breaks away, not pausing as he moves to kiss down Steve’s neck and suck bruises there. Clint has learned that they might not last long, but they’re sure a lot of fun to make over and over again—silver linings everywhere.

Steve’s fingers tighten in increments on Clint’s hips with each nip at his neck, relaxing again as he soothes the sting with his tongue. “You’re being so good,” Clint tells him, nuzzling against the marks he’s left where he knows the skin is sensitive, because he hasn’t shaved since yesterday and he knows the sensation will make Steve whine.

He’s right.

“Are you gonna help me put on a show?” Clint asks.

Steve nods. “Fuck, yeah,” he agrees. “I can do that.”

Clint slots a thigh between Steve’s legs and feels the heat and hard pressure of his cock against it. “Do you want to get off?” Clint asks. “I can let you come now, or I can make you wait until you’re crying from holding back—what do you want, baby?”

It’s a little unfair, the way he puts just a bit more pressure against Steve’s cock on the last word. Steve groans and says, “Fuck, now, please, I’ll be so good.”

“You’re always good,” Clint tells him. Steve whines and his hips jerk up a little bit into Clint’s thigh. “I’ve got you,” Clint promises him, and he reaches down to take Steve’s wrists in his hands. He pins them back to the wall, up on either side of Steve’s head, and Steve whines again. “You can come, baby,” Clint tells him. “But you’ve gotta get yourself off on just my thigh. Can you do that?”

Steve doesn’t make promises either way, he just rocks his hips and ruts shamelessly against Clint. He lets out soft and breathy little moans with each rock of his hips, and Clint goes back to sucking at his neck, the other side now, marking him.

Clint loses track of time for a little bit like that, teasing Steve by easing his leg just a little bit out of Steve’s range so he doesn’t get the pressure he desperately wants, or rocking with Steve to make his little moans turn into punched-out noises of surprise and pleasure.

When Steve comes, it’s almost a surprise to Clint, but not quite. He catches the hitch in Steve’s breathing right before, the way his hips thrust with just a bit more force, and Clint holds him through it, stroking his thumbs over the pulse points in Steve’s wrists.

Steve’s head drops to Clint’s shoulder and Clint continues holding him there, although he can’t resist rocking once against Steve just to feel Steve shudder and hear him whimper at the drag against his sensitive dick. “Fuck,” Steve whispers.

“I could do that,” Clint says. “I did promise to tie you up and fuck you sometime.”

Steve whimpers again. “Fuck, please.”

“Okay,” Clint agrees easily. “Get undressed and I’ll get the ropes.”

He trusts Steve to do as he’s asked, and when he returns with the correct lengths of rope, Steve is indeed naked. His cock isn’t hard again yet, but Clint knows from experience that won’t last long. “I’m gonna tie your chest,” he tells Steve, “just ropes to hold you. And then I’m going to tie your wrists so that you can’t move your hands when you’re on your hands and knees and I’m fucking you.”

Steve nods, a quick motion. “Yes, please, I want that, do it.”

“Eager,” Clint comments, and he kisses Steve just because he wants to, because he can. “I like it. Go kneel on the bed for me.”

Steve moves to the bed and Clint follows, setting the ropes down beside Steve. He tugs off his shirt and slips out of his jeans and boxer briefs, not bothering to put on a show for Bucky. He trusts that if Bucky thinks he’s hot, the nakedness will be enough.

Clint clambers onto the bed behind Steve, a little less graceful but not by much, and picks up the longer of the ropes. “I’m going to just do a chest harness,” he tells Steve. “Let me know how it feels when I ask, okay baby?”

Steve hums in the affirmative, and Clint starts looping and knotting the rope, trying Steve up and marveling once more at just how good the ropes look against his skin. He glances back and catches Bucky’s eyes on them, intent and dark. Clint grins, saying without words, _look how beautiful he is. _If the look in Bucky’s eyes is anything to go by, he absolutely agrees.

Clint turns back to Steve, keeping his attention where it’s needed most, and finishes the harness. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” Steve says.

“Okay, then put your wrists together,” Clint tells him. He leans around Steve and uses one of the shorter ropes to tie Steve’s wrists so that they can only move a few inches apart from each other. “Good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He’s hard again, precum beading at the tip of his cock, and Clint reaches out and takes Steve’s dick in his hand, thumbs over the head and the slit, smearing the precum around. “Fuck,” Steve grits out. He’s already tugging with his hands, not trying to reach for Clint, probably instead trying to find something else to hold on to.

“You’re so beautiful,” Clint tells him. “You look so good, all flushed and tied up pretty for me.” He strokes Steve’s cock a few times, firm and steady strokes, not trying to get him off—just seeing how flustered he can make him.

“Fuck, Clint, please,” Steve begs. “Fuck me.”

“Okay,” Clint agrees. He strokes Steve a few more times, but eventually he pulls himself away from Steve and digs through the bedside table, finding the lube and slicking his fingers. “Do you need me to help you into position?”

“No,” Steve says, but he waits for Clint to tell him it’s okay to move.

“Go on then,” Clint encourages.

Steve carefully lowers himself down until his wrists are supporting him, wiggling his knees back a little until his butt is at the perfect height.

“So good,” Clint praises, stroking his dry hand down the curve of Steve’s ass. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Steve says on an exhale, more breath than word, all anticipation.

“Are you sure?” Clint asks, reaching around Steve’s thighs to stroke his cock with his hand, slick fingers easing the slide.

“Fu-uck,” Steve moans, dragging out the word. “Please, yes, do it.”

“Okay baby,” Clint agrees, thumbing over the head of Steve’s cock before he pulls away and nudges Steve’s legs apart a bit until his hole is bared to Clint. “You look so good for me, for us,” Clint praises, circling his hole with his index finger, waiting until he’s relaxed before he pushes in.

Steve takes his finger easily, but Clint fucks him with just the one for a while. Every few thrusts in, Clint will crook his finger so that it brushes against Steve’s prostate, making him whimper and cry out. “Do you think you can take more?” Clint asks him. _He _knows Steve can, of course, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to hear him ask for it.

“Yes, please, give me more, I want it,” Steve says, words all in a rush like he thinks the faster he gets them out, the sooner Clint will give him what he’s desperate for.

Clint rewards him for it, pushing a second finger in with the first and feeling Steve shiver beneath him at the feeling. “Is that good, baby?” Clint asks. “Do you like the feeling of my fingers in your ass?”

“So good, don’t stop,” Steve begs.

“I won’t,” Clint promises. “You’re so pretty, so good for me. I love how needy you get when I finger you; I love how you could come just from this.”

“Please fuck me,” Steve begs. “I need it.”

“I know you do,” Clint assures him. “And I will fuck you. But I might make you come first.”

“Fuck,” Steve whimpers. Whether it’s at the words or because Clint’s repeatedly stroking over his prostate, Clint doesn’t know. He isn’t sure it matters. “I need to come,” Steve begs.

Clint hums, considering. “No, not yet,” he says, and Steve whines.

“Then fuck me?”

“Pushy,” Clint says with a small laugh. “Okay, baby, let me get one more finger in, stretch you out real nice, and then I’ll fuck you.”

“Fuck, please.” It seems to be all Steve’s reduced to at this point—begging for more—and it makes Clint’s skin feel electric, sensitive and _alive _everywhere they touch.

He slips in the third finger easily, and Steve pushes back onto his fingers with the small amount of leverage he has, begging for more with his body as well as his words. “So good for me,” Clint tells him, thumb rubbing circles on Steve’s hip. “Are you ready?”

“Please,” Steve begs, still pushing back with every thrust of Clint’s fingers in.

Clint supposes that’s a good enough _yes. _

He pulls his fingers out only long enough to slick up his cock and line it up with Steve’s hole. “Relax for me, okay?”

He strokes over Steve’s back with his left hand until Steve’s pliant underneath him, and then he slowly presses in.

It’s so tight and hot and _amazing. _“Fuck,” Clint breathes out, and he sounds as punched-out as he’s ever made Steve sound. “You feel so good, Steve, fuck.” He bottoms out and holds there, needing a moment as much as he needs to give Steve one, because that electric sensitivity to his skin is amplifying everything and he might spontaneously combust.

He can feel Bucky’s eyes on them, still, is the thing—has been able to feel them this whole time—and that adds an extra spark to the electricity running through him. It’s too much, too good.

His hips roll in a small thrust without his actual intent to move them, and Steve moans underneath him, loud and wanton, not even bothering to try to keep quiet.

That sound? It’s the best thing Clint’s ever heard. He thrusts harder, and Steve cries out.

It’s all the encouragement Clint needs.

He remembers Steve saying he likes to be fucked hard and fast—Clint gives him that, now. He pounds into Steve’s ass until Steve’s cries rise a notch, _so fucking loud, _and he comes all over himself and the sheets of Clint’s bed. His ass clenches around Clint’s cock, and Clint keeps fucking into him, one more time, two, and then he’s coming too.

He catches his own weight on his arms so that he’s not laying on top of Steve, but he does allow his head to dip down and rest against the curve of Steve’s spine.

“Fuck, that was so good,” Clint says, when he remembers how to form words. “You were so good, Steve.”

Steve’s still panting, but he makes a small humming noise of contentment, so Clint’s feeling good about it. Clint carefully shifts away and pulls out of Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve’s chest and gently pulling him upright. He unties Steve’s wrists first, then the rest of the ties, rubbing his arms to make sure his circulation is fine.

Clint glances over at Bucky, who’s still watching them, eyes intent, and says, “Like what you saw?”

It’s a redundant question. Bucky’s got one hand pressed against his dick, whether for pleasure or to try to keep himself from coming. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is hoarse.

Clint’s dick doesn’t twitch, because he’s not a supersoldier or a guy in his twenties, but it _wants _to. “I could help you with that, if you want,” Clint says, gesturing at Bucky’s crotch.

Bucky blinks. “I—no,” he says. “I’m gonna,” he says, and then he rises in a fluid motion and—bolts.

Aw, fuck.

“Okay,” Clint calls after him, and then he turns all of his focus back to Steve. “Want water?”

“Nope,” Steve says. “Hold me?”

“You got it,” Clint agrees easily. “But then water.”

“Sure.”

Clint settles back against the headboard, pillows propped behind him, and Steve settles in between his legs, back against Clint’s chest. Clint wraps his arms around Steve and strokes absent-minded patterns over his stomach, trying not to dwell on the fact that he’d done so well and then fucked it all up with Bucky.

“It’s okay,” Steve says after a while. “To not get everything right all the time.”

Clint sighs. “I know. Mistakes are human. But…”

“But you don’t like it,” Steve agrees easily. “I know. None of us do. But he won’t be mad.”

Clint shrugs. “We’ll see, I guess.” He supposes, if anyone would know, it would be Steve.

He can hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content: bondage, voyeurism


	6. Chapter 6

When Clint finally tracks Bucky down a few days later, Bucky’s on the roof. It’s one of Clint’s usual hiding spots, not so much Bucky’s, so Clint takes that as a sign that he’s ready to talk.

Clint takes a seat next to him and hands him a cup of coffee, doctored with sugar and cream the way Bucky prefers. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Bucky’s frowning, just the smallest downward tilt of his lips, brow furrowed, and Clint wants to fix it.

“Sorry if I crossed a line. I didn’t mean to.”

“No, it’s—” Bucky cuts himself off, takes a sip of coffee to cover the motion, and sighs after he swallows. “It’s fine. It wasn’t you.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Kinda seemed like me.”

“It wasn’t _you, _it was just… a lot.”

“Okay,” Clint agrees. After all, he isn’t going to try to tell Bucky what he thinks or feels. “Want to talk about it?”

“I _wanted _it,” Bucky says after a few moments of silence. He blurts the words out in a rush, like he’d been steeling himself to say them. “But, fuck, I can’t—I get scared. I freeze. I can’t make decisions. It’s too much still.”

“Hm,” Clint says, considering. “I thought it might be something like that.”

“You did?”

Clint nods slowly. “I was kind of the opposite, though, y’know, after Loki? I had to be in control. Still do, more or less, although I’m more relaxed about it now—it’s a preference, not a _need. _But then, it was… a lot.”

“So, you get it.” Bucky sounds relieved.

“Do you want sex?” Clint asks, curious. “Because it’s okay not to. There are plenty of people who don’t, or who do but aren’t comfortable with it and choose not to.”

Bucky sighs. “I do, though. I want it. I just… I don’t know.”

Clint considers his next words carefully, and then, when he can’t find a more delicate way to say them, he just goes for it. “I have an idea about that, actually.”

“Oh?” Luckily, Bucky sounds more curious than wary.

“You ever been tied up?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “In a _sexual way, _Bucky, God.”

“Oh. Well, then, I dunno? Not that I remember.”

“Might help the issue of not wanting to make decisions,” Clint tells him. “I tie you up, you can’t move, so there’s no decisions to make. All you gotta do is tell me beforehand what you’re okay with, and tell me during if you’re enjoying it, and tell me at any point if you want to stop. Those kinds of decisions aren’t really decisions, they’re just… status reports.”

“Huh.” Bucky doesn’t sound freaked out. He just sounds contemplative. “I dunno. What if I freak out?”

“I’d stop.”

They’re quiet for a while, each sipping at their coffees. “I guess it’s worth a try?” Bucky offers.

Clint grins. “Okay. Let me know when you’re ready, though. Just grab me sometime when you’re feeling like you want to try it.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees. “So, want to play Call of Duty?”

“Hell yeah,” Clint agrees. He rises to his feet and offers a hand to pull Bucky up. They head back down into the tower, shoulders brushing against each other’s, and Clint’s honestly a little excited for what might be in store for them sometime in the near future.

But first, video games.

\--

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to come to find Clint. In fact, he drops down next to Clint at the island in the communal kitchen at far-too-early-o’clock the next morning, more or less vibrating.

“Now?” Clint asks. It comes out a little bit whiny, but, well. He’s only had two cups of coffee. He’s still got a _whole other pot _to work through after the first one.

Bucky just grins at him, somewhere between eager and anxious. “Soon?”

It’s too hopeful for Clint to say no. He even manfully resists sighing. “I need like. An hour. And more coffee. And then yes.”

“Great!” Bucky says, moving to get himself a cup of coffee. He stays mercifully quiet, just sitting next to Clint, metal shoulder occasionally brushing against Clint’s bare arm that shows out of his tank top. It’s getting him surprisingly worked up, and as his brain switches on, he can’t help but start making plans.

It’s less than an hour later (although not by much) when he says, “Okay, yeah, I’m good. My room?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “I’m not—I don’t—”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Clint assures him, cutting off his attempts to find words. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Bucky slumps in relief. “Yeah.”

They take the stairs to Clint’s apartment, because it’s only a couple of floors up and Clint knows Bucky likes to avoid the elevator when he can, and Clint’s body is pleasantly awake when they make it to his door. It automatically unlocks—thank you, JARVIS—and Clint ushers Bucky inside.

Clint wonders idly when the rest of the team is going to catch on to all of this. Natasha has to know—could he possibly have kept this a secret from her for this long? He doubts it—but no one else seems likely. Thor, maybe; he’d have a frame of reference for it. But he’s not around as much, so—

“How do we do this?” Bucky asks.

“Safewords or stoplights?”

Bucky tries to shrug, and Clint says, “No, it’s important with any partner, but it’s especially important in this case.”

“Stoplights is fine, then,” Bucky says.

“You know what they are?”

Bucky shows a hint of his impatience when he huffs. “Yellow for slow down, red for stop.”

“And green if it’s good,” Clint reminds him. “I’m not going to make you make any decisions, but I will be checking in. I have to for this to be safe.”

“Yeah, that’s probably good,” Bucky agrees. “Okay, so, how do we do this?”

Clint considers. Usually, he’d start by kissing him—but he doesn’t want to stress Bucky out with expectations that he respond in any given way. “How ‘bout we jump right into it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky admits, sounding a little bit relieved.

He snags Bucky’s arm then and pulls him into his bedroom, leaving him beside the bed. “Get naked,” he says, not quite an order, but something more than a suggestion.

He hears the rustle of clothes as Bucky presumably does as told, and Clint digs through the drawers in his bedside stand, pulling out lengths of rope. He hesitates over something else. “Last question,” he promises, turning to Bucky.

His mouth goes dry, and then a moment later starts watering in overtime, because _damn. _

“Yeah?” Bucky’s voice reminds Clint that he needs to use his brain and make words. Fuck, that’s gonna be tough.

“Are toys okay?”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure, why not?”

Clint wants to roll his eyes—for someone so afraid of sex, Bucky’s also so agreeable when it comes down to it—but says, “Okay, I’ll check in then.”

He pulls out some long ropes and drops them on the bed with a couple of toys before moving his hands to his pants, shoving them down his hips and stepping out of them. He tugs his shirt up over his head and tosses it aside, and then he’s wearing nothing but his boxers and looking at Bucky, who’s wearing, well, _even less than that. _

“You’re gorgeous,” Clint tells him.

Bucky looks uncomfortable—with the praise, or maybe with the thought that he needs to reply? “Don’t say anything,” Clint suggests. “You don’t gotta talk, unless you’re checking in or telling me you don’t like something. Okay?”

Bucky nods, looking relieved.

“I’m gonna start looping at your shoulders and work my way down,” Clint tells him. “Stay standing for now, and I’ll help you lie down when it’s time for that.”

He’s already decided what he wants to do. He doesn’t make it quick, though, looping the silk ropes gently around Bucky’s arms and across his chest, linking them to lower loops until even his hands are pinned to his sides. “Lay down,” Clint tells him, and he moves to help Bucky. It’s awkward, but they manage it, and fuck, he looks so good laid out. “Color?”

“Green,” Bucky tells him. He squirms a little bit, but not much. “Feels good.”

“We’re not done yet,” Clint tells him, half a warning and half a reassurance.

He ties Bucky’s legs all the way down to his ankles, and then he pulls the rope back up, looping it around Bucky’s swollen cock and his balls, pushing them up and looping it around to hold them in place. They’re secured to his ankles; he can’t relieve the pressure, but he can’t move enough to hurt himself either.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers, seeming to come to just that realization. “Clint,” he whines.

“I got you,” Clint tells him. “Just lay there and let me handle this.”

Bucky whimpers, and there’s tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he nods.

Clint snags lube off the bed where he’d deposited it next to the toys, slicks up his hand and reaches out to wrap his fist around Bucky’s cock.

Bucky keens into the sensation, rocking helplessly against the ropes. “Shh,” Clint soothes, slowly stroking his cock. “Just feel. You don’t have to do anything else.”

It doesn’t take long to have Bucky trying to squirm, to very limited success, tears leaking down his face. “I’m going to get a toy,” Clint tells him. He pauses, but Bucky doesn’t tell him not to, panting and squirming under Clint but otherwise quiet.

So Clint snags a Hitachi magic wand and turns it on. Bucky whimpers as the sound of the vibration hits him, and Clint shushes him gently. “I got you,” he says, and then he strokes it along the underside of Bucky’s cock, from the base to the tip and back down again, then down lower, over his balls.

Tears are leaking from Bucky’s eyes now as he cries out, arching up. “Fuck,” he gasps when Clint gives him a moment’s reprieve.

Clint wants to tease him, to ask if he likes it, but that’s not what Bucky wants. So instead, he strokes Bucky’s cock with the wand again, making sure to catch it just under the head of Bucky’s cock. Bucky cries out at the sensation, arching up, and the movement tugs a little bit at the rope around his cock and balls and makes him whimper.

Bucky’s soft whimpers of “Fuck, Clint” trail off into panting and wordless moans as Clint continues to torment him, figuring out what makes him go wild and then doing that, relentlessly, until Bucky’s given up entirely on squirming. His hips still jerk into and away from the vibrations, depending on where Clint presses the head of the wand against his cock, but otherwise he’s boneless.

There are tears leaking from his eyes, a steady stream, by the time Clint says, “Shh, I’ve got you.” He unties the rope that’s around Bucky’s cock and balls but leaves the rest in place, still holding him still. “You can come now, baby, you did so good,” he says, and when the head of the wand catches against the head of his cock once more, Bucky cries out and _comes. _

Like, a _lot. _Clint watches, in awe, as the cum streaks up Bucky’s bare chest, covered only in the silk rope, making a mess of things.

“You did so good,” Clint tells him again when he sinks back down, boneless. “I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just whimpers softly when Clint climbs off the bed. He wets a towel in the en suite bathroom and is back at Bucky’s side moments later, cleaning him off as best as he can. He’ll have to wash the ropes, but that’s fine. He unties Bucky slowly, brushing his own skin against Bucky’s as he does in a way that’s hopefully comforting, working from his ankles back up to his shoulders. When the last of the ropes falls away, Clint climbs into the bed beside Bucky, laying down next to him and tugging Bucky over until he’s sprawled over Clint’s chest, flesh arm across Clint’s stomach and head on his sternum, being slowly lifted and lowered with every one of Clint’s even breaths.

Clint strokes over Bucky’s back and shoulders, tracing aimless patterns—not the patterns of scars, of which there are many, because that would be possibly triggering and crossing a line regardless. Just soothing, being warm and present.

Bucky stirs a little as he comes back to himself, limbs stretching and testing their freedom. “Fuck,” is the first thing Bucky says. “I think you melted my brain.”

“In a good way?” Clint checks, just to be sure.

“Hell yeah,” Bucky agrees, and Clint can hear the smile in his voice. “Fuck, that was awesome.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees, pleased.

They snuggle long enough that his own erection subsides, even if it doesn’t entirely go away; he’s got a sexy naked supersoldier on top of him, and even though he’s getting used to the fact that having sex with supersoldiers is somehow a fact of his life right now—seriously, _how _is this his life_?—_he sure as fuck doesn’t take it for granted.

But it’s enough that when Bucky sighs softly and pulls away, the situation in Clint’s pants is under control.

“Are you gonna run away, or do you want to watch home makeover shows on TV for a bit?” Clint asks, sitting up and stretching.

“I should—Steve,” Bucky says, like that’s a complete thought.

Clint nods anyway. “Sure,” he agrees easily. Then he winks. “Let me know any time you’re up for another round, okay?”

Bucky blushes. “I—yeah,” he says, ducking his head. “Okay.”

He’s dressed and slipping out the door before Clint can say much more—does he have superspeed along with the strength?—but that’s okay. They had mind-blowing sex, and Clint helped him reclaim a piece of himself, hopefully—that’s a successful day.

Clint settles on the couch with some reality TV for mindless entertainment, not bothering to dress, just wrapped in a fluffy blanket.

The snuggling was nice, too. He should maybe get a dog? Something to cuddle with.

He falls asleep, and his last thought is that he really hopes they don’t get called out to fight today—he wants to stay like this, warm and content and proud, for as long as he can. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content: bondage, scene a lot like a loss of control fantasy, orgasm delay


	7. Chapter 7

They don’t get called out to fight again for a few days. But when they do, and they get back, Steve’s got the same problem with being over-energized as before.

Clint taps him on the shoulder as they disembark the quinjet—a silent offer. Steve catches his eye and nods.

Clint goes back to his room and showers, taking longer than usual as he gets lost in thought planning what to do.

His goal is to end the night—well, afternoon, it’s only mid-morning now—with Steve as relaxed as possible, so he goes and gets some actual good sleep. The mission was a long one, and Steve was caught up dealing with not only the police and federal agents but also the press afterward; he deserves the opportunity to relax that his body is currently denying him.

Clint thinks he’s figured out what to do by the time he shuts off the water, and he barely has time to slide into thin sweatpants when there’s a knock on his door.

Steve’s bouncing a little on the balls of his heels when Clint swings the door open, eyes bright. “Excited?” Clint asks.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees easily. “You?”

“Hell yeah,” Clint agrees. “C’mon in.”

Steve enters but hangs out in the entryway, apparently unsure where to go from there.

“Want to meet me in the bedroom?” Clint asks.

Steve nods and moves down the hall.

Clint, for his part, goes to the kitchen and downs the majority of a pot of coffee. He’s gonna need energy to match Steve’s to get through all his plans on this little sleep—but it’s gonna be so, so worth it.

When he joins Steve in the bedroom, Steve’s pacing on the small patch of floor space that’s not covered in discarded clothes, books, and weapons.

Clint goes to him and stills him, drawing him into a kiss. They kiss while Clint drags Steve’s shirt over his head, breaking apart for just a moment and coming right back to it. Steve’s wearing sweatpants he normally wears to work out; they must be an addition to his wardrobe courtesy of Natasha, because they’re plastered to his ass and look amazing.

Clint can also see that Steve’s not wearing anything underneath them. There’s only one good response to that—Clint shoves his hand down Steve’s pants and takes his dick in hand. Steve moans into the kiss, and Clint can’t help but grin, starting to stroke Steve. “Like that?” he asks when he pulls back from the kiss.

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve agrees. “Harder?”

Clint pulls his hand away and Steve whimpers. Clint smirks at that and holds his hand up to Steve’s face. “Lick,” he says.

Steve’s eyes darken with lust. He leans in and licks at Clint’s palm with broad strokes of his tongue until it’s wet and Clint’s hard from the attention to such a sensitive part of his body. Then Steve takes three of Clint’s fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them, and Clint goes a little weak in the knees.

Steve watches Clint while he does it, meets his eyes, gazing locked in a way that feels electric.

When Steve pulls back, a full eternity later, Clint feels a little tingly all over and hyperaware of the heat of Steve’s body so close to his. He rewards Steve by sticking his hand right back down his pants and closing around his dick, which has gotten even harder in the interim. Clint jerks him off hard and fast, Steve’s arms coming up to Clint’s waist for support, his head onto Clint’s shoulder as he pants into Clint’s neck.

It doesn’t take long before Steve’s coming all over Clint’s hand and the inside of his pants. “Fuck,” Steve breathes out. He kisses Clint’s neck before he pulls back a bit.

Clint pulls his hand free and wipes Steve’s cum off on his own shirt before tugging it off and over his head.

Steve glances down at Clint’s dick, desire clearly written across his face, but Clint says, “No, I’m gonna tie you up. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees instantly. “I want that, yeah.”

“Awesome.” Clint pushes down his pants and steps out of them as he moves to get the ropes he wants. “Is it okay if I suspend you? Just a little.”

Steve nods so fast Clint hasn’t even finished talking first. “Yes, please, do that.”

Clint laughs softly. “Okay, I will. Take off your pants.”

Steve does as asked before waiting for Clint’s next direction. “On the bed, on all fours,” Clint tells him.

He climbs up on the bed behind Steve once Steve’s done that and makes quick, methodical work of a harness around Steve’s hips and groin. “Now, lay down on your front,” Clint tells him.

Steve complies, and Clint stands on the bed, stretching tall to put the ropes that are looped through the harness onto hooks in the ceiling. He’d installed them not long after getting Steve’s kink list back; he’s had _plans _for a while.

When he’s done, Steve’s ass sticks up in the air a bit, his body bent in a v as his hips are suspended _just _far enough off the bed that Steve can’t grind down to get any friction to his cock.

“You can tell me to stop at any point,” Clint reminds Steve. He plans to overwhelm the man, to wear him out, but he always, always wants Steve to remember that it only goes as far as he’s comfortable with. “You can tell me to slow down as well. I will untie you any time you want.”

“I know,” Steve agrees. “I trust you.”

Clint pushes down the urge to fight back the warmth he feels at that, inherently uncomfortable with something so close to praise. He knows Steve trusts him, knows that Steve wouldn’t submit to him if Steve didn’t trust him—it feels good to be reminded anyway.

Clint then ties Steve’s hands spread out across the bed, rope going down each side of the bed and keeping him from getting the leverage to push himself up.

Clint kneels behind Steve, pushes Steve’s thighs apart and leans down on his arms between them. He nuzzles Steve’s ass, rough stubble scraping across Steve’s skin, and Steve’s hips jerk, but there’s nowhere for them to go. Clint kisses across the skin, moving closer to his target.

He licks over Steve’s hole and Steve curses, hips jerking again to no avail. “I’ve got you,” Clint tells him, and he knows Steve can feel his breath over the wet skin around his hole. Steve shivers, and Clint licks over him again.

He licks and kisses and swirls his tongue around Steve’s hole until Steve’s a quivering mess beneath him. Only then does Clint press inside, the tip of his tongue pushing past the ring of muscle as Steve rocks back into him as best as he can. Clint licks and kisses and fucks Steve with his tongue until Steve’s begging him incessantly, a stream of “please” and “more” and Clint’s name falling from his mouth amidst more than a few curse words.

Clint keeps it up until Steve’s coming again. Only then does Clint get up to get the lube, slicking up his fingers and stroking over Steve’s wet hole with one. Steve whines and pushes back into it, but Clint takes his time, teasing him until he’s relaxed and getting hard again.

When the first finger pushes in, Steve sighs softly in relief. He’s already a little bit loose from Clint’s tongue, and it’s not long before Clint’s pushing in a second finger alongside the first. He keeps his pace slow and gentle, but he brushes over Steve’s prostate on ever thrust in, sometimes pausing to stroke over it a few times just to hear Steve’s breathing tick up before he’s whining, a high-pitched and desperate noise.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Clint promises him. “I’ve got you.”

Steve doesn’t stop begging—Clint doesn’t want him to, anyway—but he nods.

When Clint makes Steve come a third time, he’s proud of himself. Steve’s boneless after, no tension in his body anymore, and Clint thinks, _almost. _“I’m going to fuck you now,” he tells Steve. “One more orgasm, and then we can sleep.”

Steve hums a happy noise and pushes his butt back closer to Clint. Clint takes the hint and slicks up his cock before pushing slowly into Steve. When he’s bottomed out, he gives Steve a few moments to adjust before rolling his hips.

Steve lets out a moan and tries to push back into Clint. It’s easy for Clint to control the pace with Steve like this though, tied up and completely at his mercy. He fucks him slow at first, until Steve’s hard again and begging. Only then does Clint pick up the pace, fucking into Steve hard and fast and slamming against his prostate with every snap of his hips.

It doesn’t take long before Steve comes again, dragging Clint right along with him.

When Clint’s done blinking away stars from his vision, he pulls out carefully and strokes a hand down Steve’s back. “You did so good,” he tells him. “You were so good for me.” He stands on shaky legs and unhooks the ropes from the ceiling, allowing Steve to lay flat on his stomach. Steve whimpers a little at the feeling of his cock pressed against the sheets, but he’s still relaxed and sated. Clint climbs down to untie Steve’s wrists and leaves the ropes there to pool on the floor. “I’ll be right back,” he says.

He runs to the kitchen to grab water for them both, drinking his down quickly. He returns with Steve’s and sets it on the side table so he can sit next to where Steve’s snuggled down into a comfortable position right where he’s at. “You’re in a wet spot,” Clint points out.

“S’cosy,” Steve mumbles in reply.

Clint strokes a gentle hand over Steve’s head, twining his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Thirsty?”

“No,” Steve whines, but he pushes himself up anyway and takes the water when Clint hands it to him. He drinks it down in one go, just like Clint knew he would. “Sleep now,” he demands when he hands the empty cup back.

Clint sets the cup back on the side table and crawls under the covers, holding them up for Steve to join him. Steve slides in and nestles in the crook of Clint’s arm, head on Clint’s shoulder, one leg through over one of Clint’s.

Clint doesn’t usually fall asleep on his back, but this is comfortable. It’s nice.

He slips out his hearing aids, drops them on the nightstand, and drifts off to sleep to the feel of Steve’s even breaths against his chest and Steve’s hair tickling his chin.

\--

And as for Bucky, well.

Clint knows sex with Bucky was excellent.

He’s still somehow surprised when Bucky asks, “So, can we have sex again?”

Or maybe he’s just surprised that Bucky asks the question when he and Clint are playing video games on the absurdly huge TV in the communal living room. Clint drops the controller, and his character is quickly killed on screen. “Shit,” Clint says as he snatches the controller back up and waits for his avatar to respawn. “I mean, yeah? Absolutely.”

“Cool,” Bucky says. He tosses his controller aside. “Let’s do that then.”

Bucky stands up and heads toward the elevator. Clint blinks after him, brain processing, before he drops his controller again and switches off the TV before quickly jogging to catch Bucky at the elevators.

Clint plans on the ride to his floor—nothing quite as much as the last time, but something he thinks will be easy and enjoyable.

His apartment’s a disaster zone as always, but they make it through and into Clint’s bedroom without trouble.

Clint considers Bucky before asking, “Can I kiss you?”

Bucky ponders it for a moment. “Yeah. I’ll let you know if it’s too much.”

Clint hooks his fingers through the belt loops of Bucky’s jeans and tugs him close, leans in until their noses brush before he tilts his head and kisses Bucky.

It’s soft and warm, starting hesitant but quickly heating up. When Clint pulls back, he snags Bucky’s bottom lip between his and tugs at it lightly. Bucky whimpers, leaning in to follow Clint without seeming to realize.

“We should get naked,” Clint points out. He sacrifices his hold on Bucky’s belt loops to pull his shirt up and over his head before shoving his jeans and briefs down his hips and stepping out of them. Bucky doesn’t move to get naked immediately, instead watching Clint with pupils blown wide.

“You’re gorgeous,” Bucky tells him.

Clint thinks that’s ridiculous—he’s _fine, _but he’s nothing compared to Bucky’s actual boyfriend—but he accepts it with a simple, “thanks,” before prompting again, “You should get naked.”

Bucky moves this time, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off, letting it fall to the floor. _Bucky _is gorgeous, a dream come true. “You’re amazing,” Clint tells him.

Bucky’s hands falter at his fly, eyes darting up to search Clint’s. They must find what they’re looking for, because after a moment he goes back to his task and wiggles out of his skinny jeans—Clint will never get over giving Bucky shit for him sometimes-hipster thing.

Now’s not the moment for that, though.

Instead, Clint grabs one of his ropes, feeling great about his investment in more and varied ones in the face of the sheer amount of sex with bondage he’s been having lately, and says, “I’m going to tie your arms behind your back.”

Bucky obligingly moves his arms behind him, wrists crossed. Clint loops the rope around his wrists, tying them together so securely that even Bucky would have to put effort into getting free, and then grabs another rope. He loops that around Bucky’s upper arms, a few loops spread out and then the whole thing tied down into the loops around his wrists. He can’t move his arms at all this way, and by the time Clint’s done, Bucky’s relaxed and his breathing is deep and even.

“That feel okay?” Clint asks.

Bucky shifts a little, moving as much as he can to feel how the ropes pull against his skin, and nods. “S’good.”

Clint nods and takes Bucky’s hips in his hand, pushing him back until his knees hit the bed. Bucky takes the hint and sits down, and Clint drops to his knees in front of him. “I’m going to suck you off,” Clint tells him. “You don’t gotta do anything except focus on how it feels and tell me if it’s too much.”

Bucky nods, and Clint moves forward to lick up the underside of his dick. Bucky moans, and Clint sucks the head of Bucky’s dick into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. He reaches out with his free hand and fondles Bucky’s balls, rolling them between his fingers as he sucks more of Bucky’s dick into his mouth. Clint takes his time sucking Bucky off, learning what makes his hips jerk up, what makes him whimper and tug at the ropes before he remembers that not only does he not have to do anything—he’s expected to do nothing.

Every time he realizes that, his cock pulses in Clint’s mouth, leaking precum as it does. Clint tries to time it, once he knows it’s coming, to suck hard at the same time as Bucky’s cock leaks and throbs against his tongue.

Once he gets that down, it’s not long before Bucky’s coming down his throat. Clint swallows and pushes himself back on his knees, looking up at Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes are closed, his mouth open as he sucks in air, and he looks _wrecked. _

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Clint tells him. He doesn’t ask if it’s okay, not wanting to make Bucky feel overwhelmed by making a decision—instead, he just states it, and waits to see if Bucky will tell him no.

Instead, Bucky nods.

Clint climbs to his feet and helps Bucky stand up. There’s no easy way to get them both on the bed like this, so Clint just thinks, _fuck it. _He snags the lube and slicks up his fingers, stroking over and around Bucky’s hole.

Bucky’s breath hitches and he tenses, for a moment, before he tugs at the ropes and relaxes again. Clint doesn’t push forward, just keeps rubbing small circles around Bucky’s hole. He waits until Bucky’s pushing his hips back a bit into Clint’s hand before he slides the first finger in, hooking it immediately to press against Bucky’s prostate.

Bucky moans and leans more into Clint. Clint wraps free arm around Bucky’s middle to hold him steady, hold him up, and begins to slide his finger in and out of Bucky’s ass. He strokes over Bucky’s prostate every time; he’s patient, using only one finger until Bucky’s hard again and desperate for more.

“Fuck, Clint, please,” he chokes out as Clint strokes over his prostate again.

Clint can’t deny him, not that he wants to. He slides a second finger in along with the first, and Bucky moans long and low. “Fuck, just like that,” he says. “So good, thank you.”

“So polite,” Clint tells him. “You’re so good for me.”

Bucky’s cock jerks and he asks, “Can I come? Please?”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. “But I’m still gonna fuck you after.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, so Clint grabs Bucky with the hand that’s free, shifting his grip from Bucky’s middle to his hips, and soon Bucky’s coming on a pleased sigh.

Clint fucks him through it with his fingers but eases off of his prostate for a bit, just moving in and out. He’s supporting Bucky’s weight with his other arm again, and when Bucky’s less slumped against him and steadier once more, Clint slips a third finger into him.

Bucky hums, a rumbling and pleased noise, and Clint takes that as his cue to target Bucky’s prostate again.

It’s barely another ten thrusts of his fingers before Bucky’s whining softly. “Please, Clint, I want you,” he begs.

“Okay,” Clint agrees. “You’ve been so good for me. I’ll give you what you want.”

He slips up his cock and pushes in, the movement easy after all of the time spent opening Bucky up. He fucks Bucky fast but not rough, just enough for him to really _feel _it. When Bucky comes again, his ass clenches around Clint’s cock, and it only takes a few thrusts before Clint’s coming, too.

He breathes through his own orgasm, and after he gently pulls his softening cock out of Bucky’s ass. He unties Bucky first, rubbing over arms—both flesh and metal, even though only one really needs it—before moving away and grabbing a wet cloth from the bathroom. He cleans Bucky gently and studies him carefully.

Bucky’s eyes are still a little glassy, and Clint suggests, “Let’s rest for a bit.”

Bucky nods in assent, so Clint tugs Bucky down onto the bed with him. He drags a blanket up to cover both of them and spoons Bucky from behind, arm around his middle and tracing patterns on his stomach.

Bucky’s hand eventually comes up, trapping Clint’s by lacing their fingers together. “Fuck,” Bucky says, voice a little rough. “That was…”

“Super hot?” Clint offers.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, huffing a small laugh. “That.”

Clint grins to himself a little. “Good enough that you’ll let me cuddle you and watch stupid reality TV?”

Bucky wiggles slightly under Clint’s arm. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees after a minute. “Steve’s probably off doing something dumb anyway.”

Clint can’t help but laugh; it’s so close to what Steve said about Bucky one of the first times they’d fucked. “Awesome,” he agrees.

So they cuddle, and they drink through two pots of coffee, because Clint is nice enough to share—it would be rude not to, after all, especially after the awesome sex they just had. They make fun of stupid people, and feel bad for the less stupid people, and generally have a great time.

When Bucky leaves a couple of hours later, Clint’s relaxed and content. “See you at the range tomorrow?” he asks before Bucky’s out the door.

“Sure,” Bucky agrees. “Gotta make sure you don’t beat my high scores, after all.”

Clint scoffs. “As if.”

They grin at each other for a few moments before they realize they’re just standing and smiling at each other and that’s _weird. _“Okay, yeah, bye,” Clint says awkwardly.

Bucky smiles at him, something small and soft. “Bye, Clint.”

He’s out the door and Clint’s left alone in his flat to wonder—what was _that _about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content: bondage, suspension, multiple orgasms, orgasm delay


	8. Chapter 8

They have _so _much sex. Between the two of them, Clint is pretty relaxed _all the time. _

It’s great. His response times are unparalleled in fights, he beat Natasha in two sparring matches in a row, and he’s generally in a pretty good mood.

Steve is still like a dream—or would be, if Clint had dreams that good, but he doubts his imagination could conjure anything close to the reality—and Clint’s getting better at reading him, knowing when to push and when to give in, knowing just how much he can take.

Bucky slowly comes out of his shell, trusting his body and his own reactions more. He still prefers being tied up, but he also likes when Clint holds him down and fucks him or pins him down and sucks him off.

Every time with them is like a revelation.

\--

Clint’s birthday comes, and he doesn’t expect much from it. Nat’s away on mission, and he already talked Tony down from a party to a team dinner and cutthroat board games afterward, so he’s spending the day like he spends pretty much every other day—gym, run, read, watch TV, track down Steve to go out with him or Bucky to play video games with him if he’s bored. Worst case, heckle Tony in his lab and play with the bots—that’s always fun.

But for now, he’s watching through season one of Dog Cops again, a little gift to himself, when there’s a knock on his door.

He’s become accustomed to Steve’s knock at this point—three loud raps against the wood—and so has his dick, because it perks up in excitement.

“Shush, you,” Clint tells it, before crossing to the door and opening it.

He’s surprised to see Steve _and _Bucky—they usually come to him one at a time. He doesn’t know how they decide who goes next, what schedule they’ve work out (if any)—he leaves that between them.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“It’s your birthday.”

“True,” Clint agrees. “So?”

“So we have a surprise for you. A gift.”

Steve’s blushing, so it’s _definitely _something to do with sex. Clint’s intrigued.

Clint looks to Bucky, who would look perfectly bored if not for the line of tension in his shoulders—nervous, then.

“Well, then I guess you should come in,” Clint says, and he steps back to make room.

He takes them in as they go, Steve in a polo—of course—and Bucky in a hoodie, both in jeans, although Steve’s are pristine and boring and Bucky’s are skinny and frayed. The difference between them is fascinating as always—how they’re different, and yet when they’re together, they _work. _

Clint wonders how they would work together during sex. He kind of hopes they figure it out, and he hopes a little extra hard that he’ll be there to see it.

“So, surprise?” Clint asks.

They glance at each other, an _oh shit we forgot to plan this part _kind of look, and then look back at Clint, both vaguely panicked.

Clint huffs a small laugh. “Guys, c’mon, what is it?”

He sees the moment Steve decides to go for broke—he starts unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest bit by bit, and Clint _hopes _this is a sex thing. He deserves birthday sex, right?

Right.

When Steve shrugs off his shirt and tugs off the undershirt, Clint’s distracted by the lines of his abs and his pecs. So, Clint almost misses when Steve’s hands go to his fly—almost.

But then Steve’s tugging down his pants, and Clint’s mouth goes dry before kicking into gear and _watering. _

Fuck, Steve’s wearing lacy lingerie in the same purple as Clint’s Hawkeye colors. His cock is already hard, tip peaking out from under the panties, and Clint’s possibly never been this turned on in his life. “Fuck,” he whispers. “_Fuck.” _

Steve looks pleased, and that seems to be all the encouragement Bucky needs to join the nakedness party. He tugs off his shirt and there’s _already _lace; what he’s wearing is more like a dress, if even _that, _all black lace and slim ties holding it together. The delicate lace and string against his hard muscles and metal arm is the exact right kind of contradiction to make Clint’s dick throb, hard and hot and desperate. “Fuck,” Clint groans.

Bucky strips out of his pants, and the lace ends just past the tops of his thighs. Clint can see lace underwear beneath it as well, keeping his dick from peeking out, and, fuck.

It’s so much at once. He doesn’t know where to look, who to look at—they’re both the most perfect things he’s ever seen.

They need to know, so he says it: “You’re the most perfect things I’ve ever seen.”

Bucky grins, almost a smirk but too warm and pleased for that, and Steve blushes and ducks his head.

“I don’t even,” Clint starts, stops. “I—fuck—you’ve melted my brain? I don’t know where to start. Fuck.”

Steve laughs, a bright, happy sound. “I’m happy to watch. For now.”

Clint takes that at face value and makes a beeline for Bucky. He thumbs over the straps on Bucky’s shoulders, trails a finger over the ties across Bucky’s chest, the lace at his sides. “You’re so gorgeous,” he tells Bucky.

Bucky shivers in response, but all he says is, “Kiss me?”

Clint leans in, trying to kiss Bucky with the entire force of his want. It must work well enough in communicating how he’s feeling, because when they break away, Bucky’s eyes are heavy-lidded and dark. Clint sacrifices one of the hands that’s still tracing over the lace to cup Bucky’s cheek and stroke over his jaw with his thumb. “Thank you for taking the time to dress up pretty for me,” Clint tells him. “You look amazing.”

“Fuck, Clint,” Bucky whispers. “You deserve it.”

Clint feels a thrill at that. “I’m gonna suck you off,” he decides. He turns to glance at Steve, who’s watching them with dark eyes, want palpable. “Both of you.”

“And then?”

Clint grins. “Then one of you gets to fuck me and one of you gets to suck me off. I’m not picky.”

He feels a thrill with the way both of them perk up, eager and excited.

Clint drops to his knees in front of Bucky, and Bucky’s eyes go wide—like he’d forgotten, for a moment, the first part of the plan. Clint pushes up the sides of Bucky’s lace slip, revealing the matching black lace panties underneath. He nuzzles his face against Bucky’s crotch, feeling the heat and the lace against his face, breathing in Bucky’s musk.

Bucky sucks in a breath as Clint tongues at him through the lace, enjoying the mix of taste and sensation. He licks at him until the lace is spit-slick and Bucky’s shaking with every swipe of Clint’s tongue against his cock. Clint opens his mouth then, wrapping it around what he can reach of Bucky’s cock and sucking as he continues to lick. Bucky lets out a soft whine, hands clenching in the air.

Clint guides the metal hand to the back of his neck and the flesh hand against his head. “You can hold on,” he directs. “But no guiding me.”

“Gotcha,” Bucky agrees, breath unsteady. Clint grins up at him, and Bucky looks down at him wide-eyed, like he can’t believe what’s happening.

Clint tugs the band of the panties down just enough to free Bucky’s dick; he leaves them still clinging tenaciously to the curve of Bucky’s ass but eases his cock out. He holds Bucky’s dick steady so he can lick over the head, tongue pressing firmly at the slit. The salty taste is sharp, perfect; it grounds Clint in the moment and makes his groan, lips just loosely wrapped around the head of Bucky’s cock.

Bucky curses above him, hand tightening in Clint’s hair, but he doesn’t pull or direct him, just holds on.

Clint can’t get to Bucky’s balls without sacrificing the panties, and he’s enjoying this too much. Instead, he palms at Bucky’s ass and sucks his cock down deep into his throat, hollowing his cheeks around Bucky’s length. He glances up at Bucky, and Bucky’s looking at him, eyes wide in wonder. Bucky opens his mouth, but then closes it again, not saying anything.

He doesn’t need to; Clint knows how good it feels, how much he’s enjoying it, can read it in every twitch of his muscles, in every time Bucky’s hand tightens in his hair.

Clint pulls off of Bucky’s cock long enough to turn to Steve. Clint strokes Bucky’s cock, spit easing the glide of his hand, as he tells Steve, “You can touch yourself. You can even come. But you’ve gotta be hard again when I’m ready for you.”

Steve’s hand is going for his dick the moment Clint gives him permission. He doesn’t shove it into the panties right away, though; instead, he cups himself through them and grinds against his own hand so that the lace drags against his sensitive cock. He bites his lip and his eyes flutter shut, and Clint _wants _to keep watching, but Bucky’s making soft whines and Clint knows he’s going to come soon.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” Clint tells him. “I want to taste you.”

Bucky groans, long and low, and comes the closest he has yet to tugging Clint’s hair in an attempt to move him forward. Clint flicks a look at him, reproachful, and Bucky subsides. “Gonna come soon,” he says, an apology and an explanation and an excuse.

Clint accepts it—but he doesn’t go easy on Bucky. He swallows him down in one move, swallowing around him as the head of his dick hits Clint’s throat, swirling his tongue around the width of him, and Bucky curses, hips thrusting involuntarily. Clint rides the motion, manages not to choke, and then Bucky’s cum is spilling down his throat.

He pulls away when it’s too much to swallow and catches most of the rest in his mouth, the taste salty and overwhelming on his tongue. He swallows that, too, and licks at the bit that’s dribbled down his chin. “You did so good, baby,” Clint tells him. He pulls the panties back up and over Bucky’s sensitive, still half-hard dick, and Bucky shivers at the soft stimulation.

“Did Steve come yet?” Clint asks Bucky.

“Not yet,” Bucky says, watching Steve over Clint’s head. “He’s close.”

Clint turns to Steve. “Do you want to come in my mouth? You’ll have to be patient and wait until I tell you it’s okay.”

Steve whines and nods. “Yes, please.”

Clint beckons him. “C’mere, then.”

Steve scrambles to take Bucky’s place, Bucky moving to slouch on a wall and watch with intent eyes. “You look so pretty in my color,” Clint tells Steve. He nuzzles Steve’s cock the same way he had Bucky’s, closer to the base because the tip of Steve’s dick is already free from the waistband of the panties. “Where did you find them?”

“I—fuck,” Steve breaks off as Clint licks a stripe up his dick. “Custom order.”

Clint hums and sucks the head of Steve’s dick into his mouth before letting it slide free again. “You did that just for me?”

“I—” Steve starts, and Clint can admit he’s not being fair, sucking Steve down further this time, the tip of Steve’s dick colliding with the inside of Clint’s cheek. Clint’s just so _desperate; _he feels as desperate as he’s ever tried to make them feel, an overwhelming _need _thrumming through him.

Because, fuck.

They did this _for him. _

He’s going to have feelings about that, later, when he can think with his brain again and not his dick.

Right now, though, he’s one hundred percent thinking with his dick, and his dick is overjoyed and desperately easy for both of these men.

“You’re so good for me,” Clint tells Steve. “Both of you are. Best presents ever.” He finally takes Steve’s cock in his hand and tugs it free from the panties, holds it steady and sucks it down slowly.

He does his best to take his time as he takes Steve apart, trying to savor this, but it isn’t long before Steve gasps out, “Clint, Clint, I gotta—fuck, please.”

Clint’s a little in awe of Steve and Bucky both right now. He’s overwhelmingly wrapped around both of their little fingers in this moment; he couldn’t deny them anything, not for the world. He pulls back long enough to say, “Come on, then,” and when he sucks Steve down again, Steve spills hot down his throat.

It’s such a similar but slightly different taste to Bucky’s cum, the two mingling in Clint’s mouth and making him almost light-headed with how much blood is rushing straight to his dick.

“Fuck,” Clint sighs when he pulls back.

“You good?” Bucky asks from somewhere vaguely to his left.

Clint gives him a thumbs up and nods, still breathing deeply. “Yeah, I’m good,” he says when he can speak real words again. “You still up for more?”

He glances over at Bucky, who catches his eyes and then _pointedly _shifts his gaze down to his dick, hard in the lace panties once more. Clint whimpers, just a little, at the sight of Bucky leaning against the wall, body covered in lace, dick hard under the lingerie. He looks indolent, looks gorgeous, and Clint wants to _ravish _him.

Or be ravished by him. Clint’s an equal opportunities kind of guy. “Ready to fuck me, then?”

Bucky licks his lips. “Yeah.” He crosses the room and tugs Clint up. “How are we gonna do this?”

“Standing?” Clint asks. “That is, if you think you can hold me up when Steve melts my brain with his mouth on my cock.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, both a _bitch please _and a _you think I won’t melt your brain with _my _cock, _with a helping of _I am not Steve and do not rise to every challenge _thrown in there. Clint laughs, bright and giddy.

It’s ridiculous, too. They both know Steve is the most competitive of them—but it’s a close race. Bucky’s going to rise to any bait Clint sets, and it’s laughable that he thinks otherwise.

Case in point, Bucky settles his hands on Clint’s hips before moving closer to kiss over Clint’s shoulder. Clint shivers at the unexpected touch; Bucky’s been getting more confident, and here’s the proof, that he’s willing and able to touch Clint absent-mindedly, without overthinking it.

“Lube?” he asks.

“Bedroom,” Clint replies, distracted by Steve walking over and angling for a kiss, tilting his head and leaning so he’s only a breath away. “Top drawer.”

Clint gives in to what they both want and kisses Steve, quickly losing himself in the feel of his sensitive lips dragging against Steve’s slightly chapped ones, the easy catch and drag of the kiss sending little sparks straight to his dick. He holds on to Steve’s waist to ground himself, because he feels drunk, he feels like he could float away.

Steve tethers him to the earth, and Clint ducks his head against Steve’s neck and breathes him in, grounding himself. “I’m gonna die,” he says aloud. He’s thought it a bunch of times, yeah, but _this _time? He barely has his bearings, barely knows up from down, and he’s going to be thoroughly _wrecked _by the things he tells them to do to him.

He’s going to love _every second _of it.

He doesn’t know Bucky’s back until he feels Bucky slot into place behind him, hips pressed against his. But he can’t feel the lace because he’s still wearing his clothes—why the hell is he still wearing his clothes?

He whines, and Bucky nuzzles at his neck, sucking a mark there. “You gotta tell me what you want,” he points out.

Clint feels very role-reversed in this moment. He knows it’s not that, not entirely; Bucky needs to be told what to do, and Clint needs to be in control—but this is as close to blurring those lines as they’re likely to get.

Clint whimpers at the knowledge and says, “I’m wearing too many clothes.”

Bucky takes that for the subtle command it is, stripping Clint’s shirt over his head. Clint has to raise his arms to help him, and Steve doesn’t bother stepping away. Instead, he steps closer, so that when Clint’s arms fall, they fall around Steve’s shoulders and curl there, holding him close. “Fuck,” Clint whispers. “You’re both so—” His mouth falls open in a moan as Steve sucks a mark on one side of his neck, Bucky the other, little nibbles and bites absolutely not in time with one another and therefore unpredictable. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Bucky’s hands go to his hips next, easing his pants down. They catch a bit on Clint’s hipbones before giving way, sliding down to tangle around his ankles and upset his balance.

That _almost _does more for him, if he’s being honest. “Keep me steady,” he tells Bucky, and Bucky hums softly in agreement. His hands are tight on Clint’s waist, doing exactly as Clint asked, and Clint relaxes into the hard line of his body.

“I’m gonna finger you open,” Bucky warns. “That okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. “Do it.”

Clint’s distracted from Bucky’s movement behind him when Steve drops to his knees, nuzzling Clint’s thigh and sucking on his hipbone.

Clint, a little bit unused to being teased, revels in the sensation. It’s overwhelming, the pull between wanting more and wanting this exact moment to never end. “Fuck,” he whispers, a curse, but also a prayer.

When Bucky’s finger circles his hole, he’s not expecting it. It’s warm and slick, though, and he pushes back into it without meaning to, behind realizing that’s pulled him away from Steve’s mouth.

He realizes quickly that _this _is going to be the difficulty of this choice he’s made for himself: he’s always choosing one sensation over the other, hoping it’ll be enough to eventually get him off.

Bucky’s finger follows his movement anyway as he sways listlessly back in range of Steve’s mouth, and Steve’s hands come up to join Bucky’s metal hand on his hips, holding him in place as much as they can. If Bucky tugs Clint back, Steve’s grip will either need to slacken or he’ll get pulled along for the ride with Clint in between them—and fuck, is that supposed to be hot?

It’s _so hot. _

Bucky’s finger pushes past the rim of Clint’s hole then, pushing in just enough for him to feel the intrusion. He gasps and arches into the sensation, trying to get _more, _and Steve takes that as his cue to wrap his lips around the head of Clint’s cock.

Clint loses himself between the two of them, moments of clarity filtering through the general haze—Steve, taking his cock deep into his throat and _swallowing; _Bucky, stroking over his prostate with three fingers, asking if he wants more; Clint, giving orders mindlessly through it all, hands guiding Steve’s head to the best of their ability, hips arching against Bucky’s hold.

He slams back into awareness when Bucky lines the head of his cock up with Clint’s hole, the words, “Fuck me,” a command, on his lips. He gets as far as “fuck,” before Bucky’s easing in, and Clint’s entire world narrows again to the points of connection between them.

Bucky fucks him hard and fast—Clint’s past the point of knowing if he asks for it that way, or if Bucky just _knows _that’s how he wants it. Steve does his best to keep up, seeming to more or less let the movement of Bucky’s hips dictate how hard and fast Clint subsequently fucks his face. Clint tangles his hands in Steve’s hair for purchase and cries out every time Bucky thrusts in and Steve swallows around him, and it seems like barely any time at all has passed before he’s coming down Steve’s throat.

Bucky’s hips thrust his cock into Clint’s now tight hole a few more times before Bucky’s coming too. Clint sighs and relaxes into Bucky’s hold, warm and sated. He strokes his hands through Steve’s hair, enjoying the sensation, and drifts for a little bit.

Not long, though. He might have sacrificed some of his control, but he still feels the pull of being in charge, of taking card of them both. He pulls himself from the warm lines of Bucky’s body until he’s more or less balanced on his own two feet, and he moves away from them, going to the kitchen for water and some wet paper towels.

When he comes back, Bucky’s cum dribbling obscenely out of his ass every time he moves, he passes cups of water to each man. Steve’s settled in on the floor, and Clint’s not going to insist he move—not yet, at least. Instead, Clint hands him a paper towel to wipe off his face and his stomach, and he hands the other off to Bucky. Clint wipes himself as clean as possible and balls up the wet paper towel, easily tossing it into the garbage can.

“Show off,” Bucky mumbles, but then he does the exact same thing, so he must not be complaining too hard about it.

Steve lazily hands his off, holding it up where either Bucky or Clint could grab it easily. Clint takes it and throws it without needing to look. “C’mon,” he encourages Steve. “Couch. Or bed.”

“Bed,” Steve agrees. He holds a hand out, and Clint’s not gonna even try to pull him up. Clint values his self-esteem too much for that.

Bucky realizes this, after a moment, and he rolls his eyes but takes Steve’s hand and pulls him up.

They make it to the bedroom on wobbly legs and all collapse in a heap on the bed. “Good enough,” Bucky allows after a minute. He curls around Clint’s back, and Steve nestles in against Clint’s front.

Just before they fall asleep, Clint remembers to say, “JARVIS? Set an alarm for team dinner?”

“Certainly,” JARVIS replies, and that’s the last thing Clint hears that isn’t Bucky’s quiet breaths near his ear. He takes out his hearing aids and drops them on the side table before he settles into their warmth around him.

It’s the best birthday he’s ever had.


	9. Chapter 9

Clint knows when Bucky shows up next to him the next morning, mischief in his eyes, what it’s going to be about. “No-o,” he whines. “Coffee first. Then sex.”

“I didn’t say anything about sex,” Bucky points out.

Clint points at him dramatically. “I know you. I know that look.”

Bucky shrugs and nods, unrepentant. He gets a coffee for himself and settles in next to Clint to wait while Clint’s brain wakes up. When Clint finally nods at him, three cups later, Bucky says, “So what if we did that again? Sex, but like all together.”

Clint shrugs. “I’m fine with it? We’d have to figure things out though. Also, we should debrief after yesterday. That was—intense.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “Ew, did you have to call it a debrief?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Whatever you wanna call it, we should do it,” he says.

Bucky grumbles but nods. “Yeah, okay. I’ll go get Steve.”

Clint shrugs and finishes his last cup of coffee before heading back to his own floor. He moves the stuff his teammates had given him for his birthday off of the couch and chairs in the main room so they’ll have somewhere to sit, and then he slumps down on the comfiest chair and waits.

When there’s a knock at the door, Clint just calls out, “Come in!” He knows JARVIS will unlock it for them.

Clint’s back is to the door, but he hears each of their distinctive step patterns as they come in and round the couches into his line of sight. Steve sits down instantly in his preferred spot—and he does have a preferred spot, because he spends a decent amount of time here these days.

Bucky still only hangs around after sex about half the time, so he’s a little more tentative when he takes the seat next to Steve.

“So, last time,” Clint says. “Thoughts?”

“I get the watching thing now,” Steve says. “That’s—fuck.”

“Cool,” Clint says. “Something to add to the list.” He shifts his gaze to Bucky. “How was it for you?”

“Fine,” Bucky says.

Clint raises an eyebrow. “You had a lot more control than usual—I’m gonna need more than ‘fine’ to work with here.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while, but Clint’s patient, allowing him time to find the right words. “It’s different,” Bucky eventually says, “when it’s helping you decide what to do, or even sometimes when it’s telling Steve what to do. It’s only when I have to decide what to do with myself that I panic.”

Clint mulls that over. “Okay,” he says, when he thinks he gets it. “Would you like to try having more say?”

Bucky shivers and nods. “Yeah,” he agrees. And then he nudges Steve.

Clint follows the movement and turns to Steve, eyebrows raised. “What’s up?”

“I—” Steve starts and then cuts himself off. “It’s nothing.”

“C’mon,” Clint says. “I’ll say no if I don’t want to do it, but I won’t tell you it’s dumb or weird.”

Steve sighs. “I just—you said you punish your subs when they don’t listen, and I—I wanted to know what that entailed.”

“It depends on what we’re doing,” Clint says. “I’d never hurt you in a way you didn’t like; I’d never _do _something you didn’t like at least a little. It’s about control, and delaying gratification; it’s…” He trails off and shrugs.

“What Steve means to say,” Bucky puts in, “is that he’s a bit of a brat, and he wants to know if he can act like it.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. He’s seen a few small hints of it, but for the most part, Steve has been good and submissive, easy to please and quick to take orders. But he’s Steve Rogers—it’s not _surprising, _necessarily, that he might want to pose a challenge. He’s a challenging kind of guy.

“That’s fine,” Clint says. “Want to explore that?” What he’s really asking me is: _do you trust me with that part of you? _

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, dipping his head in a nod. “I—yeah.”

“Okay.” Clint tugs them to their feet and turns to Steve. He kisses him softly, feels Bucky move away as he does, and he lulls Steve into a tentative compliance before he says, “Strip,” the weight of the command heavy in the air.

Steve tilts his chin up, the smirk on his lips giving away that he’s about to act like the brat he apparently likes to be—sometimes, at least.

That’s okay. Clint can get him right where he wants him, shaking and boneless and fucked out, compliant and begging. He can appreciate a challenge—they wouldn’t be so well matched if he couldn’t, after all.

“Make me,” Steve says, just like Clint knew he would.

Clint holds in a smile at Steve’s antics. Instead, he cuts his gaze to Bucky, who is also smirking, because he _knows _Clint will exact his revenge. Or, if not knows, at least trusts enough to believe it.

But for now, he’ll let Steve think he’s won. “I dunno, Buck,” Clint drawls, letting Iowa and cornfields into his tone, “you wanna do somethin’ about that?”

Bucky’s smirk turns into a full smile with the permission. He doesn’t say anything, just nods and waits, and _oh, _Clint loves this, loves the difference between them in this moment.

“Go ahead,” Clint tells Bucky, an indulgent smile curving at his lips. “Nothing else, though.”

Bucky stands tall from where he’s been leaning against the wall, watching them. His eyes don’t lose their intensity, though; if anything, they sharpen as he moves toward Steve, dark and predatory.

Even from here, Clint can see Steve’s pupils dilate in response, and, _fuck, _Clint wants to _wreck _him.

For now, he holds back.

All in good time, after all.

Bucky goes for Steve’s shirt, first, one of his many button-ups. He takes his time, slow and methodical, but Clint sees his knuckles brushing against Steve with every movement, first his chest, then his abdomen, and finally, at the tail of the shirt, against the bulge at the front of his slacks.

Steve’s tongue darts out and swipes across his lips: his tell, for when something’s getting to him and he’s trying not to show it.

Good.

Clint crosses the room and Steve eyes him over Bucky’s shoulder, expression torn between wariness and anticipation. Clint meets his eyes for just a moment before focusing his attention on Bucky, who hasn’t seen him coming but absolutely knows he’s there. Clint’s hands go to Bucky’s waist and he presses up against his back. “You’re doing so good, baby,” he says, pressing light kisses to Bucky’s neck. Bucky falters for a moment under the sensation, and Clint says, “Keep going,” a gentle suggestion more than a command.

A gentle suggestion is all Bucky needs. He pushes the button-up off of Steve’s shoulders and tugs the hem of his undershirt out from where it’s tucked into his pants. “Up,” Bucky says, the first words he’s spoken since they started. Steve obligingly raises his arms, and Bucky tugs the shirt up over his head and off.

As Bucky’s hands drop to Steve’s pants, teasing at the waistband, Clint’s hands move from Bucky’s waist up under his shirt, stroking across his abs, which grow more defined as he sucks in a sharp breath. Clint’s hands swipe lower, across his abdomen, and he scratches lightly, hard enough that Bucky will feel the blunt pressure of his nails but not hard enough to leave marks.

Yet.

Bucky makes a noise low in his throat, somewhere between a moan and a growl. He leans back against Clint, body melting into Clint’s entirely, and Clint smiles into Bucky’s shoulder.

Through all of it, Bucky’s hands never waver in their task, teasing along the waistband of Steve’s pants but making no move to unbutton them.

Clint can see the need to ask for more warring with Steve’s pride, or whatever it is that stops him from asking for what he wants.

Clint can’t help but taunt him. “Was there something you wanted?”

Steve’s jaw clenches noticeably, but he shakes his head in the negative.

Clint shrugs and goes back to what he was doing, sucking bruises into Bucky’s neck and under his jaw. He relishes in the way Bucky shivers under each bite, the way he goes momentarily boneless with each swipe of Clint’s tongue to soothe away the sting afterward.

Clint leans them forward and Bucky obligingly braces his hands against Steve’s hips, trusting even Steve at his brattiest to support their weight.

He doesn’t disappoint.

Clint’s hands are teasing at Bucky’s waistband now, with the added bonus of being scant inches away from the bulge in Steve’s pants. When Bucky begs, “Please,” Clint has no reason to deny him, no reason not to unbutton the front of his jeans and shove them down his hips, no reason not to reach into his briefs and fist a hand around his cock, grip loose but firm as he starts up a steady pace.

And the best part? Even _better _than the groan Bucky lets out, the way his hips push into Clint’s grip? Is the way each upstroke brushes against Steve’s cock, still trapped in his slacks, and the way Steve bites his lip until it’s bright red and puffy in an attempt not to give Clint the satisfaction of saying anything.

“Fuck, Clint,” Steve grits out, and Clint grins at him over Bucky’s shoulder, but he doesn’t do anything more, because that’s not what he’s waiting for and Steve knows it.

“You’re so good for me, Buck,” he says instead, pressing kisses to the line of Bucky’s jaw. Bucky’s head is tilted back now, resting against Clint’s shoulder, and he’s panting slightly. His hips are still pushing into every motion Clint makes, and Clint doesn’t _mind, _but…

He wraps an arm around Bucky’s hips and pins them back against his own. Bucky could break free easily if he wanted to—that’s not what this is about. This just restricts his involuntary movements, provides some kind of security.

It’s a reward for good behavior, and Bucky’s whine says he knows it.

“Fuck, Clint, please,” Steve grits out. It’s far from begging; it’s barely a request.

But it’s a start.

“On your knees,” Clint says, and he’s gratified when Steve drops without a moment’s hesitation or a hint of complaint.

But Clint’s not letting him off the hook that easily. He turns his attention back to Bucky, still stroking him at the same leisurely pace, and says, “Would you like that, Buck? Do you want Steve to suck your cock?”

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, watching them from his knees.

“Maybe, if you’re good,” Clint tells him. He nuzzles at the junction between Bucky’s jaw and his neck, knowing he’ll leave a hint of stubble burn because he hasn’t shaved since yesterday. “What do you say, Buck? Should we let Stevie put his mouth to good use?”

Bucky must not be as far gone as Clint thinks, because instead of saying _yes, _he says, “I dunno, Clint, d’you think he’s earned it?”

Clint huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re right,” he says, and Steve _growls. _“I’ll give you a choice,” Clint tells Steve. “You can watch me and Bucky, and I’ll take my time before I get to you.” They both know how long Clint can take—how long Bucky will _let _him take—if he wants. Steve whines, and Clint thinks, _almost there. _“Or you can suck his dick now, and have your punishment later.”

“Later,” Steve says immediately.

Clint waits a moment, not a punishment so much as a reminder that he’s in charge of this, but Steve looks up at him with eyes that are more desperate than challenging and lips that are bright red, and Clint gives in.

He shoves Bucky’s briefs down until they join his jeans around his knees, just one more restriction against his movement. He holds Bucky’s cock, hard and dark, leaking precum, and moves it until it’s _almost _against Steve’s lips.

Steve, now that he’s down on his knees, has his hands crossed behind his back, and he must _want _this, because he’s waiting even though the lines of his body are tense with the effort it takes him not to lean forward and just _take _it.

“Are you going to be good?” Clint asks him, and as he says the last word, he shifts his hips just enough forward that the head of Bucky’s cock brushes against Steve’s lips, smearing precum as Clint draws them back again, until they’re a breath away once more.

Steve _whines. _“Please,” he begs, and it is begging this time.

But it’s not what Clint asked. So he waits.

Steve’s eyes meet his, frustrated and dark. “Please, I’ll be good, please,” he begs, and _oh. There it is. _

“Open,” Clint commands, and Steve’s jaw drops open without a second’s hesitation. “What do you do if you want me to stop?” he asks. Steve moves one arm from behind his back and taps it against Clint’s thigh, two quick touches. “Good,” Clint praises, and he takes his arm that’s _not _holding Bucky’s hips and reaches out with it, fisting a hand through Steve’s hair. “Color?” He taps his fingers against Bucky’s hip so that he knows the question is for him as well.

“Green,” Bucky breathes, the words little more than a faint sigh.

“Green,” Steve says easily, mouth open and inviting as he finishes saying the word.

That’s all the encouragement Clint needs. He nudges his hips forward, grinding the erection he’s been mostly ignoring against Bucky’s ass, and Bucky’s still pressed tight against him, so his hips follow the movement. Clint pulls Steve in at the same time, pressing Bucky’s dick into his mouth, just a bit at first, but Bucky moans and Steve bobs against Clint’s hold, trying to move down, and, well.

Clint’s not going to say _no. _So he thrusts again, and the movement of his hips pushes Bucky’s cock deeper, again and again until he can tell that the head meets the back of Steve’s throat.

Bucky’s head is back against Clint’s shoulder, but Clint’s looking down at Steve, watching himself fuck Steve’s mouth with Bucky’s cock.

It’s exhilarating.

Tears prick the corner of Steve’s eyes as Clint pushes him deeper still, as he sees the motion of Steve swallowing around Bucky’s cock, and he says, “That’s it, baby, just like that,” and tugs Steve’s hair a little for good measure.

Steve moans around Bucky’s cock, and Bucky makes a high-pitched keening noise, turning his face into Clint’s neck. “Can I?” he asks.

Clint can’t resist turning his head and leaning in to kiss him, quick and dirty, still thrusting their hips so that Bucky’s cock is fucking into Steve’s mouth, even if Clint is holding Steve’s head back so that Bucky’s cock can’t quite reach his throat again.

“Yeah, baby, you’ve been so good,” Clint says against Bucky’s lips as they break apart. “Come for me.” He pulls Steve in as he says it, thrusts until Bucky’s cock brushes Steve’s throat, and he looks down to see Steve is helping him in this, is swallowing around Bucky’s length, and Bucky _comes. _

Steve swallows it until he can’t, and then he pulls back, letting the last of it dribble across his mouth and down his chin. Clint lets go of his hair and cups his jaw, smearing the mess with his thumb. “Good boy,” he praises, and Steve nips at his thumb, still the tiniest bit feisty even now.

Clint tucks Bucky’s softening cock back into his briefs for now, but lifts a leg to snag Bucky’s jeans and yank them the rest of the way down his legs until they’re around his ankles. “C’mon,” he says. “Bed.”

Bucky steps out of his pants obligingly, and Clint drops his hands to his hips, ready to support his weight if his legs decide they aren’t ready.

Bucky casts him a glance over his shoulder, amused, clearly communicating, _you think one orgasm could have me off balance? _

Clint does, actually, but can admit that maybe not _this _one. That’s more a case of when he takes his time, teasing and tasting and denying him the chance to come until he’s too desperate for words, when the only sounds he can make are hitched breaths and whines.

Clint rolls his eyes and swats at Bucky’s ass, barely a tap, and Bucky’s grin widens.

He brushes a hand across Steve’s head as he moves away from them, padding into the bedroom on bare feet and tugging off his shirt as he goes.

“Up,” Clint commands, and Steve rises to his feet. He’s still in his slacks, dick tenting against the front of the fabric, probably a mirror image of Clint’s own. Clint wraps a hand around Steve’s wrist, a gentle circle, and rubs his thumb against Steve’s pulse point. “Good boy,” he says, because praise goes just as far with Steve as punishment, and Clint _likes _praising them when they’ve done well.

Steve swallows thickly, tongue darting out to swipe at his lips, and as it does, it traces through lines of Bucky’s cum. Steve hums happily at the taste, and Clint can’t help but smile at him.

“Are you going to strip now, if I tell you to?” Clint asks.

The words are barely out before Steve’s moving to undo his pants, and Clint _tsks, _tugging his arm away. Steve obligingly lets both arms fall back to his sides, eyes on Clint’s face in question, but it’s too late for that.

“Well?” Clint asks, because Steve still hasn’t answered his question.

“Yes,” Steve replies instantly. “Clint, _please.” _

“I’ll meet you in the bedroom,” is all Clint says. But before he lets Steve leave, he snags his hips and reels him in, kissing him open-mouthed and dirty, smearing Bucky’s cum between their lips and licking the taste off of Steve’s tongue. He nips at Steve’s bottom lip as he pulls away, thumbs stroking against his sides, and asks (rather unfairly, he’ll admit), “Well?”

Steve doesn’t scramble to follow Clint’s prompt so much as he saunters at a truly improbable speed. Clint can’t tear his eyes away from the way his movements emphasize his ass in those slacks. He wants to _bite it. _

Maybe later.

Now, he takes the time to gather up the clothes they’ve left behind, both men’s shirts and Bucky’s pants, not bothering to fold them but tossing them on the couch where they’ll be off the floor and out of the way.

When he makes his way into the bedroom, it’s to find Bucky lounging on the bed and Steve leaning pointedly against the wall by the door. Clint looks to Bucky first and asks, “Do you think we should punish Steve now or later?”

Steve twitches, like he thought maybe he was off the hook—_ha, _nice try—and Bucky hums, considering. “Later,” he decides.

Clint watches out of the corner of his eye as Steve seems to tense even _further, _and he can’t help but grin.

He turns to Steve, considering. “Do you agree?”

Steve looks like he wants to argue. He also looks curious. Clint raises an eyebrow, a challenge, and Steve relaxes. He nods once, a sharp movement, because Steve Rogers has never met a challenge he could resist.

Clint feels the sharpness of Steve’s nod mirrored in his grin. He can work with this.

“I’m going to _wreck _you,” he promises Steve, eyes tracking the way Steve shudders at the words.

“Hardly sounds like a punishment,” Bucky drawls, and there’s a bit of a challenge in his words, too.

Clint’s smile softens as he looks over at Bucky. “Oh, it will be.”

Steve whimpers, a noise so faint Clint almost doesn’t hear it. Bucky clearly does, smirking even as his expression turns contemplative, interested. “Well, don’t let me stop you, then,” he says, and he’s not the focus of the scene at the moment, but he still knows to ask, “May I?” He moves to hold his cock but stops a breath away, waiting for Clint’s answer.

“Yes. But don’t come.”

Bucky nods, and his teeth bite into his lip as he stokes his hardening cock. While this wouldn’t have been long enough for most men’s refractory period, it only takes a couple of hard strokes for Bucky’s cock to fill out, dark and pretty. Clint licks his lips. “Slower,” he orders, and Bucky obliges.

Clint could watch him all day, get off just from the sweet way he follows Clint’s orders.

Another time.

For now, he turns to Steve, who is waiting impatiently. His eyes are glued to Bucky, hands now clasped behind his back, like he knows he wouldn’t be able to resist touching himself if they were free. “Good boy,” Clint praises, watching Steve flush down his neck and chest.

Clint reaches out and cups Steve’s jaw gently. He traces his thumb across Steve’s lips, full and a little chapped because he bites them when he’s stressed, and Steve swipes his tongue out, caressing Clint’s thumb in return.

Clint refrains from rolling his eyes. Barely. Instead, he pulls his hand away, not missing Steve’s pout as he does. “Get naked and get on the bed.”

“Are you going to get naked too?”

“Did I tell you that you could speak?” Clint returns. Steve glares at him, not budging an inch. Clint gives in and rolls his eyes this time. “I’ll undress when I’m ready, and not a moment before.”

Steve huffs a sigh like this is all so bothersome, like Clint can’t see his dick twitch even where it’s still constrained by his pants, and fuck, Clint _adores _this asshole.

Steve undoes his pants at a pace just this side of eager rather than frantic, actions belying his affected indifference, shoving them down along with his boxers and crawling onto the bed.

It’s a big enough bed that he doesn’t _have _to be more or less between Bucky’s legs. That’s a bit of artistic license that Clint can support.

He spends a moment just taking in the view: Bucky, still jacking himself slowly, and then Steve on all fours between his legs, ass in the air. He’s completely shameless, and Clint’s already rock-hard dick aches in his pants. _Fuck. _

“You look so good, baby,” Clint tells him, because Clint’s never met a filter that could stop his thoughts from spilling out of his mouth, and he’s not sure he’d want one, anyway. Not if it meant he couldn’t watch Steve’s cock twitch and slap against his stomach, leaking a bit of precum and smearing it there.

Clint goes to one of his two bedside stands, the one with drawers, and digs through the top drawer. He doesn’t have to search hard to find the lube.

He tosses it to Bucky first, because he has _plans _for Bucky’s dick and it wouldn’t do if he chafed it jerking off mostly dry, and Bucky smiles back at him, small and pleased.

It punches Clint in the gut with feelings, sometimes, the way Bucky revels in small acts of care, surprised by every one. He’s hot as sin, and Clint wants to pound into him until even his supersoldier ass is feeling it for, if not days, at least hours. But he’s also sweet and good, and Clint wants to cover him with gentle kisses, show him that he’s worth being gentle with too, and, _fuck. _

Clint’s gonna need a lifetime to do everything he wants to do with these two men.

He climbs on the bed behind Steve, kneeling between Steve’s legs, his own legs nudging Steve’s further apart.

Steve’s ass is right there. Clint follows through with his earlier impulse and leans down, sinking his teeth into it before licking over the mark. Steve makes a punched-out noise, and Clint grins into the swell of his ass, nuzzling. “Are you gonna be good, baby?”

“Fuck, Clint, _please,” _Steve grits out.

It’s not an answer. Would it be better to punish him by biting him again or by moving away?

Easy answer. Clint pulls back, satisfied when Steve whines softly. He strokes a hand down Steve’s back, ghosting over the hard muscle, and says, “That’s not an answer.”

“Clint,” Steve begs.

Clint smacks his ass and the sound gets drowned out by Steve as he cries out. “Fuck, yes, Clint, please,” he begs.

“I still haven’t heard an answer,” Clint points out. He admires the red mark left behind by his hand, quickly fading, but doesn’t move to strike him again.

“Fuck, okay, I’ll be good,” Steve agrees, and Clint rewards him with another smack in the same place.

“See?” Clint croons, and he smacks Steve’s other cheek, earning a shocked gasp. “Isn’t this so much easier when you’re a good boy?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but Clint didn’t expect him to. He coats his fingers in the lube that Bucky’s left off to the side of them, warming it between his fingers before nudging Steve’s legs so they’re just _that _much farther apart, exposing his hole. “You look so good, all spread out for me,” Clint tells him, taking a second to admire the view. He reaches down and cups Steve’s balls, rolling them between his fingers just to hear Steve’s breath hitch. He trails his fingers up until his index finger is circling Steve’s hole, touch feather-light, and Steve pushes back into it.

Clint spanks him with his unoccupied hand and continues the gentle circling with the other. “None of that,” he chastises. “If you want something, you ask me for it, and I decide if I’m going to give it to you.”

“Clint,” and, _oh, _that’s Bucky’s voice. Clint hadn’t forgotten about him; hard to, when he’s _right there, _all spread out and flushed, stroking his cock. “May I?”

“Yes,” Clint tells him, and he _sees _Bucky’s grip tighten, his strokes speed up. It’s less than ten tugs at his cock before he’s coming, spilling out over his hand and his stomach. It is, as always, an absolute treat to watch. “You did so good, baby, asking first. What do you want as a reward?”

Bucky smiles soft and blissed out, bringing his hand up to lick at his own come.

“_Fuck,” _Clint breathes out; it takes him a moment to even realize that it’s him who’s spoken, but Bucky looks so pleased that he can’t be upset about it. “You’re so hot.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he’s definitely blushing at the compliment. “Fuck me? But, later. For now, can I just—can I watch?”

“Yeah, baby, you just watch for now,” Clint agrees. He’s still circling Steve’s hole, and he can see by the tension in Steve’s shoulders and the subtle shaking of his arms that he’s getting frustrated. Clint fondles his balls again and treasures the way Steve’s shoulders relax—it’s not what he desperately wants, but at this point, he’s just happy to have something.

So Clint gives him what he wants now that he’s not expecting it, sliding his finger in—but only to the first knuckle.

Steve’s hands are clenched into fists, bunching the sheets up under them. “Clint, please.” He’s begging in earnest now.

“Please what?”

“More,” Steve begs.

Clint obliges, following the letter of the plea if not the spirit, pulling out slightly before pushing his finger in deeper, down to the second knuckle. “Like that?”

“Clint,” Steve whines. “More!”

Clint smirks, sliding his finger in and out, but not making any move to go deeper. “Like this?”

Steve’s panting now, his hips twitching, unsure whether to thrust back in a demand for Clint to go deeper, or to thrust forward in a futile quest for friction.

Clint wishes he could see Steve’s face. He bets his pupils are blown, his eyes unfocused, his jaw slack. “Please, Clint, go deeper.”

Clint hums. “Buck, what do you think?”

Bucky meets Clint’s gaze, and his eyes are twinkling with mischief. “No,” he says, and there’s an edge of finality to his tone. “He doesn’t need more yet.”

“I do,” Steve pants, and his hips decide what they want, arching back into Clint’s hand in an attempt to push his finger deeper into Steve’s ass. Clint follows the motion, not letting Steve have even an inch of control, and smacks Steve’s ass for good measure.

“You’re so needy, trying to get what you want even when we’ve told you no.”

“I’ll be good,” Steve insists. “I can’t—I just—_Clint.” _

“Not until Bucky says,” Clint tells him.

“_Bucky,” _Steve begs, changing tactics.

“Yeah, Stevie?” Bucky somehow sounds unaffected, like they could be discussing the goddamn weather, and not whether or not Steve is allowed to get fucked.

Clint does not deserve this man. Either of these men.

Steve apparently gives up on the both of them. He drops his head down so his chin is almost against his neck, inhaling every time Clint pushes in, exhaling every time Clint pushes out, breathing to the steady rhythm.

He isn’t able to see when Bucky nods at Clint, and Clint pulls out, pushing back in with two fingers this time, thrusting them all the way in. Steve keens; his fists that had loosened clench once more around the sheets. Clint crooks his fingers and Steve cries out. “That good, baby?” Clint asks, stroking over the same spot again before Steve can answer.

“Fuck,” Steve whines. “Just like that, so good—” He cuts himself off with another soft sound as Clint does it again, and again, and again.

Bucky’s hand is around his cock again, but he doesn’t stroke without permission. “Go ahead, pretty boy,” Clint tells him. Bucky muffles a groan by biting at his bottom lip, and he starts stroking at the same slow pace as before.

Clint gives Steve another finger, alternating between stretching him and crooking his fingers to hit that sweet spot inside of him. “You’re being so good for me, Steve,” Clint praises. “Am I making you feel good?”

“Yes, fuck,” Steve groans. “I need—Clint, more—”

“Shh,” Clint soothes, refusing to speed up his methodical pace. “I decide what you need.”

Steve whimpers, but he quiets obediently.

Clint gives him a few more thrusts with his fingers before he pulls them out entirely. Steve lets out a small noise but waits, expectant. “Color?”

“Green.”

“Green,” Bucky agrees, eyes still drinking them in.

Clint says, “Good,” and moves away from the bed. He doesn’t have to look to know Steve’s displeased. He roots around in the second drawer until he finds what he’s looking for. Steve tries to look, but Clint quickly tucks it behind his back. “No peeking,” he says. “Don’t you trust me to make you feel good?”

Steve’s cock jumps at the words, or maybe at being denied a glimpse of what’s in Clint’s hand—at the things he’s imagining. “Yeah,” he agrees. “C’mon, Clint.” Clint lets him get away with begging for more, because it’s just that: begging, not a demand.

Clint doesn’t rush, but he doesn’t take his time, either. He settles back into the same spot, kneeling behind Steve, and coats both his fingers and the toy with lube. He pumps his fingers back into Steve, moving in and out a few times, more to shock a gasp out of him than because he thinks Steve needs to be stretched any more than he already is. But then Clint pulls his fingers free and lines up the toy, the blunt tip pressing against Steve’s hole.

Steve tenses for a moment, and Clint waits him out. When Steve relaxes, Clint begins to ease the plug in.

“Look at you,” Clint murmurs, appreciative. “Your hole is so tight.” Steve makes a noise and rocks his hips slightly, and Clint lets him get away with it this time, a little distracted by the way his hole is clenching despite the stretch in an attempt to pull in more of the plug.

“More,” Steve begs. “Clint, please, more.”

“You’re so greedy,” Clint marvels.

“I’ve been _good,” _Steve whines, and Clint cards a hand through Steve’s hair, scratching at his scalp before tugging lightly. Steve groans, and Clint tugs harder, yanking Steve’s head up a bit.

“You have, haven’t you, baby?” But Clint doesn’t rush, still easing the plug deeper. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need. But not until I’m ready.”

“Clint,” Steve whines, and Clint tugs at his hair again.

“Shhh, baby, I’ve told you I’ll give you what you need, you just need to be patient.”

Steve moans, but he nods in assent, the movement causing Clint’s firm grip on his hair to tug, and he makes quiet little whimpers with each yank.

Bucky, Clint is pleased to note, is sporting a hard and leaking cock—erection number three. “Don’t come until I say so,” Clint says, and he makes sure they both know it’s for each of them.

Before either man can answer, the plug pushes just that last little bit in. Steve clenches around it, seating it fully, and moans.

“Gorgeous,” Clint comments. It’s a simple plug, sleek and black, but it looks amazing in Steve’s ass, dark against his pale skin. “Should I spank you some more?” he muses. He can’t see Steve’s cock from this angle, can’t tell if it jerks at the idea, but Bucky perks up. “Would you like that, baby?”

“Yes,” Steve breathes.

“Yes what?”

“Yes _please,” _Steve begs.

“Should I?” Clint asks Bucky, already knowing what Bucky’s answer will be. He yanks on Clint’s hair, pulling Steve’s head up so he can see Bucky’s face, see him nod.

Clint’s hand is already moving through the air when Bucky does just that, a satisfying _smack _ringing out before Steve can prepare himself for the impact.

“Fuck!” Steve yelps.

Clint doesn’t give him a chance to beg for more, setting a pace just this side of brutal—just the way Steve likes it. Clint knows that each slap to his ass causes him to clench around the plug, driving it deeper, pushing relentlessly against his prostate.

Steve’s breath hitches with each hit, and Bucky’s eyes are so blown dark that Clint can’t see a color in them anymore. He’s given up on jerking himself off, instead squeezing the base of his dick to stave off an orgasm; Clint can relate. He’s so hard he thinks maybe he could cut vibranium; he can feel every thud of his heartbeat pulse through his cock.

Clint keeps spanking Steve, but he catches Bucky’s gaze and nods pointedly at the remote that he’d slid on the bed near Bucky’s thigh, just out of Steve’s line of sight.

Bucky’s smile turns devious. He snags the remote, Steve none the wiser, and studies it, clearly deciding his next move.

Clint’s curious what Bucky will choose. Will he ease Steve into it, starting at a low vibration and building slowly? Will he make it steady, or choose one of the patterns of vibrations that are pre-set?

Clint sees the moment he makes up his mind, and he tugs at Steve’s hair, not hard enough to pull his head up, just trying to get his attention, to make sure that he knows the next words are for him. “Don’t come,” he warns.

“I—” Steve starts, and cuts off with a yelp. Bucky times it so that the first pulse of vibration is at the same moment as Clint’s hand making contact with Steve’s ass. Steve’s hips jerk forward, either trying to escape the sensations or trying to find friction for his cock—both, maybe.

“Color?” Clint asks.

“Green,” Steve grits out through another long pulse of the vibrator. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I can’t—” Steve tries, but Clint’s having none of it.

“I know what you can take,” he tells Steve. It’s mostly true. He knows Steve can take more than _this, _after all. “But for now, I’ll leave you at Bucky’s mercy.”

Steve whines when Clint climbs off the bed, but Bucky increases the intensity of the vibration and Steve’s whine morphs into a moan.

Clint is honestly impressed that they’ve gotten this far and he’s still fully dressed. He tugs off his shirt, and he’s amused to note once it’s off that Bucky has shifted slightly, angling so he can watch both Steve and Clint at the same time. Clint would put on a show, but he’s past that point right now. He unbuttons his jeans and kicks them off, but he leaves his boxers on for now.

“See something you like?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees easily. Steve starts to turn his head before he drops it back to his chest, whether because of a particularly intense vibration from the plug or because he remembers Clint’s earlier command.

Clint crosses to the bed and cards fingers through Steve’s hair, running them through the soft blond strands. “You’re so good, both of you,” he says. “But…”

Steve goes tense, and Bucky shifts forward minutely.

“I think it’s time for your punishment, Steve,” Clint says. He tugs at Steve’s hair until his head is pulled back and he can meet Clint’s gaze.

“Fuck, no, I’ve been good,” he protests. His eyes are slightly glassy, but not fully glazed over. “_Clint.” _

“I haven’t forgotten your punishment from earlier,” Clint reminds him. “You remember, don’t you, baby?”

“Fuck,” Steve whimpers. “Please.” There are tears at the corners of his eyes.

“No.” Clint lets go of Steve’s hair, allows his head to drop again, and moves to the drawer once more. “I want you to sit on the chair in the corner,” he tells Steve. He can tell when Bucky turns off the vibrations by the way Steve whimpers, a soft, sad sound. “I’m going to blindfold you, and then Bucky and I are going to have some fun. You’re going to listen, and you are not allowed to touch yourself, no matter what.”

Steve crawls until he’s at the edge of the bed, breath hitching as every move he makes jostles the plug inside of him. “Lemme help you, baby,” Clint says, and Steve pauses.

Before Clint moves, though, he digs through the drawer some more. He could just trust Steve to follow the order not to touch himself, but Steve is a little shit, so Clint digs around until he finds the short silk rope.

He helps Steve over to the chair and then asks, “Do you want your arms tied in front of you, or behind?”

Steve bites his lip. “Behind.” Clint ties them together, nothing fancy, just looping around his wrists and making sure they’re pinned together, his shoulders pulled back into position. “Tug,” he orders, and Steve obediently pulls, trying to get free.

He can’t. Or, well, he probably _could, _if he really wanted to. But it would take some effort, and it would probably hurt, and Clint’s not interested in keeping Steve tied up if he doesn’t want to be, anyway. “Good?” he asks.

Steve’s pupils are blown dark, and his eyes are growing glassier. “Good,” he breathes. “Can I…?”

Clint cups his jaw, stroking a thumb across his cheek. There are some tear tracks there, huh. “Can you what, baby?”

Steve ducks his head, not trying to pull his chin out of Clint’s hand, but moving so their gazes no longer meet. He looks bashful, and Clint thinks he must be misreading his expression, because Clint’s never seen Steve Rogers bashful before. But then Steve asks, “Can I have a kiss?”

_Oh. _“Of course you can, baby,” Clint croons, his voice gone soft. He moves to cup Steve’s jaw with his other hand, tilting his head up until their gazes meet again. “You’re being so good for me,” he says, and he leans in, pressing their lips together soft and sweet. Steve’s mouth parts against his, and Clint slips his tongue in, meeting Steve’s and stroking against it. He nips at Steve’s bottom lip as he pulls away, and Steve whimpers softly. “Color, sweet boy?”

“Green,” Steve breathes out on a sigh.

Clint holds up the blindfold. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “I want it.”

Clint ducks down to kiss him once more. “You’re so good for me,” he tells him. “If you take your punishment well, and you don’t come, I’ll get Bucky to suck you off,” he says.

Steve moans, cock twitching, and asks, “What if I don’t?”

It’s more curious than challenging, so Clint just moves to secure the blindfold over his eyes and says, “Then you won’t be allowed to come again until the next time we’re together.” The way they’ve been fucking like bunnies, that won’t be long; supersoldier sex drives are _insane. _

But, the point stands: supersoldier sex drives _are _insane.

Steve whimpers. Clint kisses him, and Steve gasps into his mouth. “Be a good boy,” Clint suggests. “You make all the noises you need to,” he adds. “Just no peeking, and don’t come.”

He moves away then, back over to the bed. Bucky’s still lounging, and Clint crawls on top of him, braced over him so that they’re inches away from touching. “Hi,” Clint says casually.

“Hi,” Bucky breathes back.

Clint ducks his head down but doesn’t go in for a kiss, instead nuzzling his cheek against Bucky’s softly. “Any requests?” he asks. His voice is low, but he doesn’t have any doubts that Steve can hear them no matter how softly he talks, so he doesn’t feel any need to speak louder.

“Fuck me?”

Clint laughs softly against Bucky’s cheek. “Can do,” he agrees. “You gonna help me put on a show?” He kisses Bucky’s cheek, moves down his neck, sucking over where some of the marks from earlier are beginning to fade.

Bucky’s breath hitches. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Fuck, Clint, keep doing that.” His hand comes up to hold Clint’s head, not directing, just a gentle grip. It’s his metal hand, and Clint’s dick twitches even as he hopes quietly to himself that none of his hair gets caught in the plates. But if they do, well—it’s not like he minds a little bit of pain every now and then, either.

Clint relishes in the noises Bucky’s making; he’s being more loud than normal in a clear attempt to taunt Steve, who loves to watch and is relegated to only listening, unable to touch himself, unable to stop his imagination from conjuring up images of what might be occurring right in front of him.

Clint moves inexorably downward, drawing level with Bucky’s chest, and he leans back onto his knees so that his hands are free to trace over Bucky’s chest, down his arms. He can’t feel more than pressure and a little bit of temperature with the metal one, but Clint has a theory that there’s something in Bucky that appreciates every moment when Clint doesn’t shy away from it—and that’s not a hardship. His hands drop away from Bucky’s arms as they draw level with his elbows, because the metal one is still tangled loosely in Clint’s hair, dropping instead to his ribs, ghosting over the muscle definition there. “You’re beautiful,” Clint tells him, little more than a hoarse whisper of appreciation.

Bucky doesn’t snort like he would if it were any moment other than _this _one, doesn’t try to deny it. He just blushes and yanks his gaze away from Clint’s, shy and disbelieving.

Clint doesn’t chastise him for the movement, doesn’t try to draw his gaze back. He ghosts his fingers across Bucky’s muscles, drawing lower, tracing over his stomach and the trail of hair leading down toward his pelvis. “So beautiful,” he reiterates, because 1) he means it, and 2) he’ll say it as many times as it takes for Bucky to believe him.

“Clint,” Bucky whines, and his breath is hitching every few seconds.

“Shh, I got you.” Clint’s words are soft, but full of _promise. _

He leans down to suck one of Bucky’s nipples into his mouth, biting softly. Bucky cries out, the sound muffled—Clint glances up and sees that Bucky’s biting his lower lip to muffle the sound; Clint challenges himself to make Bucky forget to quiet himself, to make him _loud, _if not make him _scream. _Clint continues worrying the bud with his teeth, soothing it regularly with long swipes up his tongue, and then when he thinks he might have lulled Bucky into some kind of complacency, he reaches over and tugs at his other nipple with his thumb and forefinger, a blunt pressure in time with his teeth biting down.

“Fuck!” Bucky yelps, and Clint hears Steve moan in the corner.

Clint pulls back to look at Bucky, fingers still playing with his nipple, tugging it and rolling it between them. “Yeah?”

“Fuck, Clint, don’t stop,” Bucky begs.

He’s such a good boy, Clint marvels. He ducks his head back, switching nipples, biting the other while his fingers find the one still slick with his spit. By the time he pulls back, Bucky’s panting, hips jerking against Clint’s thighs, pupils blown wide. “I should invest in some nipple clamps,” Clint muses. “Would you like that, baby?”

If Bucky’s answering moan is anything to go by, he’d like that indeed. Clint manages to keep himself from preening, but—well, it’s a close thing.

“Please,” Bucky begs after a few moments of nothing—no stimulation, no touches, just Clint’s thighs bracketed around his hips. “Clint, please.”

Clint shushes him again. “I’ve got you, baby, I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promises.

“I know,” Bucky says—slurs, really—and it makes Clint feel warm inside. That sensation only intensifies when he continues, “always do,” and Clint’s really, _really _gone on him.

He shifts lower, but as he does he settles his hands on Bucky’s hipbones, pinning them in place. Bucky makes a soft whimper, lifting against his grip—not in an attempt to push him away, but instead to test how hard Clint’s willing to hold him.

He moans, long and low and loud, when he discovers that Clint’s willing to hold him hard _enough _that his hips don’t lift more than the tiniest amount. He’s at Clint’s mercy; and they both know it’s exactly where he wants to be.

“I got you,” Clint murmurs again, kissing below Bucky’s ribcage, across his abdomen, down to just above where his hands are pressing above Bucky’s hipbone. He sucks a bruise there, where there’s very little fat and a lot of muscle, and Bucky groans above him, melting into the bed beneath him. “Good?” Clint asks as he pulls his head up, and he never claimed to play fair, so before Bucky can answer, he swipes his thumb up and presses against the dark spot his teeth and tongue have left behind.

Bucky groans, long and low, his cock throbbing between them, and he nods. “Yeah,” he pants when the groan tapers off. “Fuck, yeah, Clint, so good.”

“Mm,” Clint agrees, humming deep in his throat and pressing his thumb against the same spot just to hear Bucky groan beneath him, to feel his hips try—and fail—to thrust upward into Clint’s body. “What do you want, baby?”

“Fuck me,” Bucky breathes, a blissful sigh. “Please.”

“Okay,” Clint agrees easily. “You’ve been so good for me,” he praises, watching Bucky duck his head even though his eyes are closed now, still subconsciously trying to shield himself from the soft words. “I’m going to give you exactly what you deserve,” Clint whispers, and then he sets about taking Bucky apart in the gentlest way he knows how.

He coats his fingers in lube again, making sure it’s warmed between them before he gently guides Bucky’s legs apart. He’s slid down far enough that he’s no longer in the way, and as he circles Bucky’s hole, his hips jerk up hopefully.

“None of that,” Clint chides, but he’s gentle with Bucky where he would be sharp with Steve. “Do you want me to tie you up?”

“Mm,” Bucky hums, considering. He wiggles under Clint, apparently experimenting with how he can move, and maybe imagining where Clint could tie him so that he _couldn’t _move. “My arms?” he asks.

Clint leans up and kisses his neck, just a brief press of lips. “Of course. Anywhere else?”

“No,” Bucky decides after a moment, and Clint accepts that at face value.

He finds another short rope in his drawer and crawls back onto the bed, next to Bucky. “Arms above your head,” he tells him, and Bucky complies immediately. Clint loops around each one, giving them enough room to move a little but not enough to yank free, and then secures each end of the rope to the headboard. “Tug.” Bucky does as asked, and Clint’s knots are good—he doesn’t pull free.

It is, as always, a bit of an absurd picture, the metal arm tied down like silk ropes could hold it in check. But it’s the spirit of the thing more than the practice of it, and Clint’s learned the kind of knots that will tug at his flesh wrist if he pulls too hard with the metal arm, hopefully reminding him to stop before he hurts himself.

“Color?” Clint asks. He always asks, when he has Bucky like this.

“Green,” Bucky breathes, a soft sigh.

“Beautiful,” Clint can’t help but murmur, climbing on top of Bucky once more, cupping his jaw with his non-lubricated fingers and kissing his lips softly.

Bucky’s teeth tug at Clint’s bottom lip, not a demand or an attempt to rush him, just an attempt to taste and feel the way Clint is tasting and feeling him.

“Ready?” Clint asks as they break apart for air.

Bucky wiggles his hips and his ass, and then he nods. “Mm, yeah,” he agrees. “Fuck me.”

Clint grins brightly. “If you insist.”

He pours more lube on his fingers to make up for the amount he lost when tying the knots of the rope around Bucky’s wrists, before he moves to circle Bucky’s hole once more. He lifts Bucky’s knees and props them over his shoulders, partially to gain that much more control over Bucky’s movement, and partially so Bucky has a physical sensation to ground himself in. “You’re so good for me,” Clint tells him, still rubbing in gentle circles. “You’ve come so many times tonight. Are you sensitive?”

Bucky’s cock twitches. “A—” He gasps, cutting off, as Clint pushes his finger in to the first knuckle, just past the tight ring of muscle.

“What was that, sweet boy?” Clint asks him. He can hear Steve’s harsh breathing in the corner, can tell from here that he’s biting his lip so hard, maybe hard enough to bleed, and fuck, that’s a thought.

“A little,” Bucky breathes, adjusting to the sensation of Clint’s finger thrusting shallowly in and out.

“Do you want me to make you come before I fuck you?” Clint asks. “And then jerk you off as I fuck you after?”

Bucky’s dick pulses, precum leaking, and he moans long and low. “Please,” he begs. “Please.”

Clint doesn’t respond, doesn’t make any promises—he might expect it, but he doesn’t _know, _and it’s more fun when it’s a little bit a surprise.

Clint slowly works Bucky open, reveling in soft his gasps as Clint stretches him and deep groans as Clint fucks even just one finger into him deeply. Clint fingers him until he takes one finger easily, and then he moves on to two, and with the additional finger, he begins crooking them every couple of stretches. It takes him almost no time—okay, _no _time, he’s got good aim—to find that sweet spot that has Bucky arching up, crying out.

It’s hard to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s blissed out expression, but as Clint brushes Bucky’s prostate over and over, sometimes a hard thrust, sometimes just the lightest press of fingers, Clint glances back to see how Steve’s reacting.

Steve’s head is thrown back, his hips jerking every time Bucky cries out, cock throbbing as each jerk of his hips moves the still vibrating plug inside his ass.

“Fuck, Clint, that’s so good,” Bucky cries out. “Please fuck me, I can’t—”

“Shh,” Clint tells him, stroking a soothing hand down his side. “I’ve got you.”

“Clint,” Bucky sobs, and there are actual tears in his eyes. “Please!”

“Okay,” Clint relents. “You’ve been such a good boy; I’ll give you what you need.”

He pulls his fingers away, and Bucky lets out a soft whimper. “Shh, I’ve got you,” Clint tells him. He spreads the lube over his hand and fists his cock, tugging a couple of times to make sure it’s thoroughly covered, and then asks, “Ready?”

“Yeah, do it,” Bucky pleads.

Clint lines his cock up with Bucky’s hole and slowly pushes in. Bucky’s breath hitches with every short thrust Clint makes until he’s fully seated. “Good?”

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes. “Good. Move.”

Clint doesn’t need to be told twice, but he holds on to his earlier thought, and he takes it slow. He rolls his hips deep but languid, thrusts that border on gentle except for the precision with which he aims for Bucky’s prostate.

“Fu-uck,” Bucky groans, long and low. His hands fist in the sheets on either side of him. “So good, Clint.”

“You’re so gorgeous,” Clint tells him. “So tight around me. All spread out for me like this. You’re beautiful.”

Bucky cries out, whether at the words or at Clint’s dick brushing against his prostate Clint doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really care, just relishes in the pretty noises he’s drawing from this gorgeous man.

Clint hears the moment Steve can’t handle it anymore, the moan he lets out as he comes. But Clint’s a little busy, so he doesn’t look, trusting that the picture will be just as pretty in a few minutes as it is right now, and he keeps fucking into Bucky slow and steady, wrecking him with the sheer gentleness of it all.

“Clint,” Bucky breathes. “More, please, more.”

“No,” Clint tells him, the word coming just as easily as all of his previous agreements. “I’m going to fuck you slowly, and you’re going to come from just this.”

“Fuck,” Bucky says, but it’s a whimper and it sounds like agreement, so Clint keeps on.

For all of Bucky’s protests, it doesn’t take him long to come, arching up into Clint’s thrusts, knuckles white as his hand clenches in the sheets. “Clint!” he cries out as he comes, and Clint feels a deep thrill hearing his name on Bucky’s lips.

He slows as Bucky slumps, waiting. “Do you want me to keep going?” he asks. “Or should I go get Steve?”

Bucky hums, shifting his hips, rolling them consideringly. “Wanna watch you fuck Steve,” he decides.

Clint pulls out, but before Bucky can do more than whimper in complaint, he leans up and kisses him, deep and filthy. “Okay,” he agrees. “I can do that.”

Clint kisses Bucky for a little bit longer, kisses becoming lazier and sweeter as his own need to come lessens slightly. When Clint finally pulls away, Bucky lets out a soft sigh. He isn’t hard again, but Clint’s not surprised; he’s come, what, three times? Even supersoldiers do eventually have to take breaks.

Clint looks back at Steve in the corner and has to sigh softly at the image, come streaked up his chest, arms tied behind his back, blindfold on and head tilted back, hips rocking slowly as he tries to both pleasure himself and hold back from another orgasm—all because that’s what Clint has told him to do.

Still, Clint walks over to Steve, movement near soundless not by intention—but Clint can admit he does like the thrill that is Steve’s gasp when Clint reaches out and curls a possessive hand around the back of his neck. “I see you couldn’t handle your punishment,” Clint points out, voice nearly conversational.

Steve whines, the noise high in his throat. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

“I know,” Clint agrees easily. “I asked a lot of you. But you know what that means, don’t you?”

Clint feels a warm thrill when Steve whimpers softly. “I can’t come,” Steve whispers.

“Until?” Clint prompts.

“Until you say?” Steve tries hopefully.

Clint cards a hand through the hairs at the nape of Steve’s neck and tugs at them. “Is that what I said?”

“N-no,” Steve stutters out, cock jumping. “You said, fuck, not until next time.”

“Good boy,” Clint tells him, “I’m proud of you for remembering.” He undoes Steve’s blindfold and is amazed to find it wet with tears and sweat. “But this means we have a problem.”

He takes in the picture Steve makes, waiting for Clint’s next command, hips still unable to keep themselves still, unable to stop themselves from rocking the vibrating plug in his ass. “Bucky wants to watch me fuck you. _I _want to fuck you. Do you want that, baby?”

“Yes,” Steve breathes, eyes wide and blissed out. “Please.”

“But,” Clint says, the word spoken deliberately, and he pauses. Steve doesn’t disappoint; he lets out a whimper, knowing that whatever comes next, it will be more punishment: good, and also bad. “You can’t come,” Clint continues. “Not on my cock, and not after. Not until next time.”

Tears are leaking from Steve’s eyes again, and he’s whimpering as he squirms. “Fuck, Clint, _please—” _

“Can you do that?” Clint asks, speaking over him. “You’ll still be a good boy if you say no. Say no, and I won’t fuck you.”

“Yes, fuck, Clint, I want you, please fuck me.”

Clint grins. “Okay,” he agrees. “I will, baby, I will.”

He pretty much carries Steve to the bed; Steve’s legs are shaking too much to be of any help at this point. Clint sits him down, and Steve whimpers as it jostles the plug. “Shh,” Clint shushes him gently. He stokes a hand down Steve’s side, soothing, before moving to untie the ropes. He rubs Steve’s arms one at a time, encouraging blood flow to return to normal. “How do your arms feel?”

“Good,” Steve says.

Clint hums. There are marks from the ropes, from Steve tugging helplessly at them, and they’re gorgeous against his pale skin. They won’t last long, so Clint takes a moment to enjoy them while he can.

“Okay, I want you on your knees,” Clint tells Steve, proud when he immediately moves to comply, moving slow and deliberate in an attempt to work around the shaking of his legs. When Steve has done as Clint asked, Clint says, “Now, I want you to lean over with your arms supporting your weight, ass in the air for me, and I want you to hold Bucky’s cock in your mouth.” Steve whimpers, and he’s already moving to comply as Clint turns to Bucky. “Okay?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah,” he agrees, voice rough. “Hell yeah.”

Steve gets into position, lips wrapped around Bucky’s mostly soft cock, and Clint says, “Just hold him in your mouth, okay baby? You don’t have to do anything else, just focus on the feel of him on your tongue and whatever you do, don’t come.”

Steve hums in agreement and Bucky groans, biting his lip at the feel of the vibration on his oversensitive dick. Clint grins at him, pleased.

He snags the remote for the vibrating plug and switches it off, Steve’s body slumping in either relief or disappointment. Whichever one it is, he won’t be feeling it for long, because Clint moves immediately to ease the plug out before slicking up his cock and easing into Steve’s stretched hole.

Even with the fingering earlier and the plug to stretch him out, Steve’s still wonderfully tight around Clint’s cock. “Fuck, you feel so good,” Clint tells him, pushing in until he bottoms out. “Does that feel good, baby?” he asks, giving Steve a brief moment to adjust before rolling his hips, just small little thrusts—a tease more than anything.

Steve whimpers; he would be begging, Clint bets, if his mouth was free, but he follows orders beautifully, keeps his mouth wrapped around Bucky’s cock just like Clint wants him to.

“I know,” Clint soothes. “I’ll give you more. But not till I’m ready.”

Steve whimpers again, and Bucky’s hand reaches out, cupping Steve’s cheek and wiping at the tears that are streaming down his face. “Beautiful,” Bucky breathes.

Clint can’t help but agree.

Still, he takes his time, fucking Steve slow and deep, ignoring his own desire to orgasm in the interest of wrecking Steve and thoroughly as possible. He fucks him like that until Steve’s whimpering with each thrust, with each brush past his prostate that doesn’t quite hit in dead on.

Once Clint decides Steve’s had enough of being teased, once Clint’s so desperate to come he can barely see straight, he abruptly shifts his pace, fucking into Steve hard and fast and brutal, just the way he knows Steve loves it. He moves so that his cock is more fully pressing against Steve’s prostate on every thrust, and soon Steve’s just letting out punched out gasps and long moans.

“You’ve been so good, baby,” Clint tells him, when he feels his own orgasm building. “Do you want a reward?” Steve has no way to answer, but Clint continues anyway, says, “You can come on my cock, okay baby? If you manage to come before I do, you can come tonight, but you still can’t come again after that until next time. This is just a special reward for following my orders so well.”

Steve’s sobbing now, overwhelmed, and it only takes less than a handful of thrusts before he’s coming untouched, moaning around Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck,” Bucky groans, fisting a hand in Steve’s hair and tugging at it—not tugging him away, just pulling to make him feel it. “Fuck, Stevie, that feels so good.”

Steve clenches his ass around Clint as he comes, and it only takes a couple of thrusts for Clint to come as well, hands gripping tight at Steve’s waist as he does.

It’s an _overwhelmingly _good orgasm; he’s put his off for so long that it makes his toes curl and his brain white out, and he comes to partially slumped over Steve, arms on either side of Steve holding him up, but barely.

He kisses Steve’s tailbone, kisses down the curve of his ass, and pushes himself up and away. He pulls out slowly from Steve’s ass, but Steve still whimpers at the movement and the loss. “Shh, I’ve got you,” Clint tells him, stroking a hand down Steve’s side. “You did so good. You can relax now, baby, I’ve got you.”

Bucky coaxes Steve’s mouth off of his cock, which has valiantly made it to a half chub but isn’t really hard again yet. Clint guides Steve until he’s lying down, curled around Bucky, where Bucky’s sitting at the head of the bed, pillows behind him for comfort and support.

Clint gets up and heads to the bathroom, hearing the noise of Bucky murmuring to Steve as he goes, and comes back with a warm rag to clean them all off. It’s not enough—not nearly enough, because they made a truly impressive mess—but it will do for now. He sets the toy aside to be cleaned off and sanitized later, and then he curls up behind Steve, holding him close and stroking his hair.

He feels when Steve relaxes into sleep, but he remains curled up around him, holding him close. “What’s the verdict?” he asks Bucky, and he’s surprised by the roughness of his own voice.

“That was possibly the best sex ever,” Bucky tells him. “Jesus Christ, Clint.”

“Only possibly?” Clint asks, and he can feel himself pouting slightly.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Only ‘cause the first time you tied me up might have been hotter. I dunno, it’s hard to compare.”

Clint preens. “Okay, that’s fine then.” He snuggles closer to Steve, breathing in the smell of sex and sweat and _Steve. _“Sleep now?”

Bucky laughs softly. “Yeah, sleep.”

“You too,” Clint says, or tries to say.

“Sure,” Bucky agrees, and Clint’s pretty sure he’s just humoring him.

He opens his mouth to say so, but then he feels Bucky tap the skin just under his ear. “Oh,” he says instead. “Yeah, thanks.”

Bucky carefully pulls out his hearing aid, and Clint lifts his head so Bucky can do the same to the other one. “Thanks,” he murmurs, and then he’s out, exhausted and sated and altogether pleased with himself.

\--

When Clint wakes up, Bucky definitely has _not _slept, but he has gotten up to get water for them all, so Clint can’t be too grumpy with him. “How long was I out?” he asks. Bucky reaches over and grabs something off of the table, and oh, right, hearing aids. He drops them into Clint’s hand and Clint puts them in so he can actually hear Bucky’s answer.

“Just forty minutes or so.”

Clint hums in acknowledgement, rolling away from Steve briefly so he can stretch. “Fuck, keeping up with both of you is a lot of work.”

Bucky snorts. “Oh, poor you, it must be so hard.”

Clint grins at him. “Exactly.” He looks back to Steve, who looks like he’s still sleeping deeply. “Should we wake him?”

Bucky shrugs. “He could probably use the fluids, I dunno. Depends on when you want to kick us out, I guess.”

Clint blinks. “You guys can stay as long as you like. Is that why you always try to bolt after sex?”

Bucky shrugs. “I guess?”

Clint frowns. “Well, you’re always welcome to stay. I make good pancakes and I’m a pro at ordering pizza. I could even be persuaded to branch out and order Chinese.”

“Chinese,” Steve mumbles from between them.

Clint nudges him. “Were you just pretending to sleep?”

“Mm,” Steve agrees. “’M not ‘wake either though.”

“Oh, yeah, not awake at all,” Bucky sasses. “Get up and drink this water or I’ll dump it over your head.”

“Clint’s much nicer to me than you are,” Steve complains, even as he’s pushing himself up into a sitting position and reaching out to take the glass of water from Bucky.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “That’s because he hasn’t been dealing with your punk ass since the 1920s.”

“You like my ass,” Steve points out.

Clint snorts. “That’s such a bad line, oh my god.” Steve pouts, and Bucky beams. “Okay, stop flirting and start telling JARVIS what food we want, I’m starving. Think Tony will be mad if we pay extra for a rush delivery? Don’t care, doing it, need all the food immediately.”

They place their orders and settle into leaning lazily against each other, a tangle of warm naked limbs. “Clint,” Bucky says after a while.

“Yeah?”

“One of us has to put on pants to get the food.”

“Fuck.”

Steve laughs at them both, and Clint grabs a pillow, smacking him with it.

Eventually, Clint grumbles, “Fine, I’ll do it. But I’m not moving until JARVIS says they’re here.”

“If I may, Clint?” JARVIS puts in. “They’re here.”

“Fuck,” Clint groans, just as a knock rings out against his door. “Coming,” he shouts, as he stumbles over to his dresser drawers and starts digging through the mess of clothes, looking for sweatpants he can just pull on. He can feel eyes on him, and he glances over his shoulder to see Bucky and Steve shamelessly checking out his ass. “You’re insatiable,” he accuses. He’s kind of secretly pleased about it, but _also, _he totally gave it his all, there, and it’s a little disappointing that they’re ready to go again this soon. He’s going to have to up his game.

“Just enjoyin’ the view, darlin’,” Bucky tells him, and Steve nods, smirking like the little shit he is.

“Sure, whatever,” Clint grumbles, like he isn’t pleased. He is. He’s totally pleased.

He snags some pants and drags them up over his hips, stumbling out to the main room to sign off on the delivery and collect their food (and scandalize the delivery guy, but then, if he’s one of the guys who has been approved for access to all of their floors, then he’s probably used to this kind of shit).

“Thanks,” Clint tells him, before digging in to the food containers right there in the front hall.

“You’re disgusting,” Bucky complains, coming into the room in a pair of boxer briefs that Clint’s pretty sure belong to him. They stretch tight against Bucky’s ass and thighs, and Clint forgets about the food, drooling over Bucky’s thighs instead.

“Fuck, and you’re hot,” he says, when he catches himself. In deference to Bucky’s complaints, though, and also so he can be good and share and all that jazz, Clint takes the food into the kitchen, spreading the many boxes out across the counters. He pulls down three plates from a cupboard and pulls out a random handful of silverware and presents it all to Bucky and to Steve, who has now joined them and is _also _wearing a pair of Clint’s boxers.

It's giving Clint pants feelings, and also maybe heart feelings that he doesn’t want to poke to closely at. “Food,” he tells them instead. “Dig in.”

For all of Bucky’s complaints, he joins Steve and Clint in falling upon the food like starving animals.

They eat at the counter, not even bothering to move to the table or the couch, and when they’re done, Clint herds them over to the couches in his living room to sprawl out. “Want to watch a movie?” Clint asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, yawning around the word. “How ‘bout that one Natasha mentioned the other day?”

“You want to watch a romcom?” Clint asks, incredulous. “Who even are you?”

“It sounded funny!” Steve defends.

“Only if I can make fun of it,” Bucky puts in.

“Seconded,” Clint says.

“Fine,” Steve says, pouting. He’s leaning against Clint, tucked under Clint’s arm, and it’s second nature for Clint to lean down and kiss away the pout.

He pulls away and feels Bucky’s eyes on them, and thinks, _fuck. _But Bucky just tells JARVIS to put on the movie, and a moment later he’s leaning against Clint’s other side, snagging Clint’s arm and dragging it around him so he’s being held, too.

Clint’s never been more confused in his life.

He thinks, for the first time, that, _oh shit, _he just might be in over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so like EVERYTHING in the tags is in this chapter


	10. Chapter 10

They definitely don’t stop having sex. But they also start… all hanging out?

Clint mentions a movie he wants to see (badly enough to suffer through the clusterfuck that is the cinema when he’s got hearing aids and paranoia about people crowded close around him), and Steve says, “Oh, cool, mind if we join you? Bucky wants to see that one too.”

It should feel like Clint’s third-wheeling on a date. But it doesn’t. They make an effort to include him in conversations, and while there are moments shared between them, there’s just as many shared between Clint-and-Steve or Clint-and-Bucky.

It’s so much fun, going out for a truly impressive mountain of Five Guy’s burgers and fries, the movie, and then ice cream after because the supersoldiers have insatiable appetites, that Clint doesn’t even think _what the fuck is going on? _until after he’s back at his apartment that night.

Because it _felt _like a date.

It felt _better _than any date he’s ever been on, easy and fun.

And he… doesn’t know what to do with that.

\--

Clint’s away on a mission—his first non-Avengers one since this whole thing started—and it’s not radio silence, but it is long hours watching over events from a rooftop in a cold part of the world, so he’s exhausted and headachey and not in his favorite headspace every evening when he tumbles into his hotel room bed. He covers himself with the blankets of both the beds and misses home so much it aches—and when did he start thinking of the Tower as home?

Probably around the time he started to think of the Avengers as his family.

He texts them while he’s away—Nat the most, then Bucky, sometimes sends pictures of birds to Sam just to rile him up, and rarely Steve, because he doesn’t know what he would say. Everything feels either too frivolous or too loaded; he and Bucky had a rapport established before all of this, but he and Steve are… different.

Clint, alone in his hotel bed at one am, unable to sleep, is coming to the unfortunate and crushing realization that he’s _caught feelings. _

Aw, no.

His phone buzzes once, Steve’s name lighting up the screen, and Clint has an irrational moment of panic, like now that he’s admitted this to himself, Steve will just _know _somehow.

Still, he opens up the message. It reads: _You awake? _

_Yeah, _he texts back. Then, _why? _

The screen lights up with an incoming phone call. Clint answers, and says, “Yeah?” His voice is low in deference to the quiet of the room, not because it needs to be, but also because it feels wrong to be loud at this time of night. “One sec, let me slip my aids in.”

He snags them off of the night table and puts them in, leaving the phone resting on his stomach while he does, and then picks it back up and holds it to his ear once more. “What’s up?”

“So, you can say no,” Bucky says, and it takes a second for Clint to realize it’s Bucky that called him, not Steve. Clint can faintly hear Steve grumble something in the background, though, and he relaxes back into bed, limbs heavy with tiredness.

“Okay,” Clint prompts, when Bucky doesn’t say anything more.

“We just… miss you? And sex?”

“You know you can, like, have sex without me there, right?” Clint asks, because Bucky’s past most of the fear, and while he doesn’t like being as dominant as Steve would prefer, that doesn’t mean they can’t just have regular vanilla sex—if it can even be called vanilla when it’s whatever the two creative and athletic assholes get up to in their free time.

“It’s not the same,” Bucky laments.

Clint snorts. “I’ve ruined you for all others, is that what you’re saying?”

“Actually, pretty much,” Bucky agrees. “So, we were thinking… phone sex? If you’re up for it?”

Clint’s exhausted. His head hurts. But talking to Bucky has already made him feel calmer than he has since his first couple of hours out in the cold this morning, and also Clint’s kind of come to the unfortunate realization that he doesn’t like to deny them things.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees. “Put me on speaker.” Steve crows in excited delight, voice going from muffled in the background to loud as Bucky does as Clint asked. “You’re both ridiculous,” Clint says, but it’s fond and he’s grinning.

“We miss you,” Steve says in his most unrepentant tone.

“Ridiculous,” Clint repeats, but there’s a warmth spreading through him that all the blankets hadn’t been able to provide. “What are you wearing?” he asks, before they can say any more things that will give him _feelings. _

Bucky snorts. “_That’s _what you’re going with?” he asks, incredulous.

“Hey, I gotta know what I’m working with,” Clint defends. “Also, I want to be able to picture this.” It’s as close as he’ll get to admitting he misses them—and sex—too.

“Sleep pants,” Steve says.

“And?”

“Nope, that’s it,” Bucky cuts in, smile wide in his voice. “Sleep pants and not much else.”

“Fuck,” Clint breathes, because he can imagine it now. He’s seen Bucky in his sleep pants before; he knows they’re thin and cling to his ass, and that if his dick is even the tiniest bit hard, the pants are hiding nothing.

He’s never seen sleep pants on Steve—mostly, Steve wears Clint’s sleep pants if he stays over to watch movies and hang out, or nothing at all—so Clint’s imagination is free to run wild. He imagines them tight like Steve’s t-shirts, clinging to his thighs and ass and groin.

Clint wishes with his whole being that he was there with them.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s—fuck, that’s good.”

“What are you wearing?” Bucky asks, and it’s a jolt, to remember that as much as he wants to be able to imagine them, they might want to imagine him, too.

“Um, briefs,” Clint says.

“Nothing else?” Bucky sounds delighted.

“I’m under like five blankets,” Clint says. “Clothes seemed like overkill.” It’s probably more information than he should give them, since they’re not supposed to know details about his mission; not a lot of places are cold this time of year. But it doesn’t feel like a security breach to tell them. It feels… safe. Easy. Comfortable.

He’s so screwed.

“Thank God for that” is all Bucky says. “So? What should we do?”

There’s so many things _Clint _wants to do to _them; _but when it’s directing what they do to each other, he’s got to be more direct, more careful. “Just kiss,” he says. “Where are you right now?”

“Bed,” Steve says.

“Steve, roll on top of Bucky,” Clint tells him. “Pin his arms down by his sides and kiss him. Nothing else.”

He hears a muffled noise of the phone hitting the bed as they drop it down beside them, can just barely make out the sounds of Steve shifting to do what he says.

He gives them time—time to get into it, to want more, to realize he hasn’t told them they can do anything else; to realize that he has, in fact, told them _not _to do anything else. Time to desperately _want _more, and then he says, “Steve, you can move a thigh between Bucky’s legs, but keep holding him down. Bucky, you can get off, but only against Steve’s thigh.”

He hears Bucky’s low groan over the phone, hears it turn into begging as he ruts up against Steve. But Bucky doesn’t beg Steve for more—he begs Clint. “Please,” he whimpers, “Clint. I gotta—”

“You can come whenever you need,” Clint tells him. “Because then you’re going to suck Steve off, but I’m gonna talk you through it, okay?”

“Fuck,” Bucky cries out, and then he’s coming, Steve’s name on his lips.

Clint hears Steve shift against the bedsheets. “You can lay down now, Steve,” Clint tells him. “Bucky’s gonna suck you off, and I’m gonna tell him exactly how to do it.”

They both make soft noises, whines and whimpers, and Clint grins to himself. He’s got a hand down his own briefs, not jerking off, just holding his cock, and it feels so _good _when his fingers tighten around it.

After a handful of moments—Clint’s not really keeping track—Bucky’s voice, breathless and low, says, “Okay, tell me.”

“Take his cock in your hand,” Clint says, knowing Bucky will know which hand he means. “Just stroke him a few times, slow but firm.” If the way Steve’s gasps and moans in the background means anything, Bucky’s doing a good job. “Now hold the base and take the head in your mouth,” he tells him.

He talks Bucky through the blowjob—slow and even paced, making Steve go an age and a half before he finally tips over the edge and _comes. _“You don’t gotta swallow,” Clint tells Bucky when he can tell Steve’s almost there. “Just stroke him it until he’s whining and squirming away.”

Clint hears Steve’s moan settle before the whimpers start. “You’re doing so good,” Clint tells Bucky. “Both of you are,” he says, as Steve’s whimpers continue.

“You can stop now,” Clint tells Bucky.

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky asks, but Clint can tell from Steve’s intake of breath that Bucky has complied. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll still get to do plenty,” Clint tells Bucky. “You got lube?”

“Of course,” Bucky answers.

“Get it, then,” Clint tells him. “I want you to finger Steve open and fuck him. I’ll talk you through it.”

“Fuck, okay,” Bucky agrees. “I’ve got the lube. Tell me how to do it.”

Clint directs him so that he’s fingering Steve, just one finger for the longest time. He tells Bucky not to hit Steve’s prostate, avoid it as much as possible, make him desperate just on the feeling of one finger fucking him.

It takes a while, but eventually Steve’s begging them both, and only then does Clint tell Bucky to add a second finger. He doesn’t say anything about Steve’s prostate, and from Steve’s colorful cursing, he realizes that too.

It isn’t until Steve’s been fucked open by three fingers that Clint says, “Okay, you can fuck him now, but ease in slow.”

Bucky does that—Clint knows, not only from Bucky’s groan, but from Steve’s pleased sigh as Bucky enters him.

“Are you in?” Clint asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees.

“Good,” Clint says. He’s jerking off slowly now, not trying to come right away—he doesn’t want to leave them in the lurch. But it’s _so good, _so much, that it’s hard not to let himself orgasm. “Roll your hips, just a small motion.”

Steve cries out, and Clint curses, squeezing around the base of his dick. “Go for it,” Clint tells Bucky. “Slow, but you can hit his prostate now. Make him come.”

Steve cries out repeatedly—every thrust of Bucky’s hips, it seems like—and Bucky’s breathing hard. Clint can hear the sound of flesh smacking against flesh, and it’s—fuck, it’s so hot, knowing that it’s _them, _doing exactly what Clint has told them to do.

When Steve comes, Bucky says, “Fuck, can I?” He sounds wild.

“Do it,” Clint tells him.

Bucky cries out _Clint’s _name as he comes, and Clint can’t help but come too.

He blames the fact that he’s still coming back to himself, that he hasn’t slept in too long and his brain to mouth filter is never the best anyway, on what he says next. “Fuck, you did so good, I love you, both of you.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, like they’re holding their breath, and Clint realizes what he’s said.

He snatches up the phone and hurriedly ends the call before they can say anything in response.

Clint wonders if he can pull off that he didn’t mean it _like that—_that he just loves them as friends. But as soon as he thinks it, he dismisses the thought.

Clint says “I love you” to coffee and dogs and _sometimes _Natasha when one or both of them are dying. He doesn’t say “I love you” to his friends, and he certainly wouldn’t—shouldn’t—have said it to his fuckbuddies.

A call starts coming in from Steve, and Clint turns his phone off. The alarm function will turn the phone back on to wake him in a few hours when it’s time to get up and get his head back in the game, and by then, they’ll probably have given up on trying to get ahold of him.

He tries to put this out of his mind so he can rest.

\--

He doesn’t get much, if any, sleep that night.

\--

The lack of sleep isn’t the blame for the clusterfuck that the mission turns into. The result of the mission, though, is that Clint’s beat to hell by the time he gets med evac catches up with him, and he spends days mostly unconscious or too drugged to know he’s awake.

He thinks, in a few lucid moments, that he sees Steve or Bucky at his side. That’s impossible, though—Bucky doesn’t go into hospitals unless it’s for Steve, and even then he doesn’t usually bother because Steve heals so fast that they almost never have to keep him for an extended length of time.

And Steve wouldn’t be here because Clint caught feelings and ruined everything, so why would he bother?

When Clint wakes up for real, Bruce is in the room, no one else in sight. Clint pushes down the twinge of disappointment and lets relief flood into the space that makes in his chest.

“Hey Brucie-bear,” Clint says, trying out one of Tony’s many nicknames. Clint winces at the sound of his voice, rough and cracking around the words.

Bruce looks up at him from the tablet on his lap and says, “Oh, good, you’re awake.” He puts the tablet aside and comes over to Clint’s actual bedside, pouring him a glass of water and helping him sit up so he can drink it.

The fire in Clint’s ribs tells him that they’re at least cracked—he’s pretty sure from what he remembers of the mission that they’re broken, though, and _fuck, _he _hates _broken ribs—but the water is a godsend against his parched throat. Bruce pulls it away before he can suck all of it down through a bendy straw, saying, “Not so fast, you’ll make yourself sick.”

Clint nods and allows Bruce to set the water aside for now. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Broken wrist,” Bruce tells him. “Broken ribs. Cracked bone in your left foot. Bruised collarbone. Some internal damage that required surgery, but you’re more or less in the clear now. You just need to take it easy and allow your body to recover.”

From Bruce’s tone, he clearly knows just how hard that’s going to be for Clint.

It’s not like it’s _intentional, _he just gets restless when he’s been still for too long. “Okay,” Clint says, instead of any of that. It’s not Bruce’s fault Clint’s injured, after all. “How long am I benched?”

“At least three months,” Bruce tells him. “But you might need physio on the wrist, and that could mean longer.”

Fuck.

“Okay,” Clint says again, when really he wants to scream. “That’s—fine.”

Bruce smiles at him sadly, like he knows how much it really isn’t fine. “Want me to turn on the TV for you?”

“Yeah,” Clint sighs. At least he’s got time to catch up on Dog Cops. Hell, he might as well rewatch ten seasons while he’s at it. “JARVIS,” Clint says, “put on Dog Cops season one episode one?”

“Of course, Clint.”

As the theme song starts to play, Bruce settles back into his chair against the wall and picks up his tablet again. Clint feels warmed by his continued presence, but he doesn’t know how to put it into words, so instead he focuses on being quiet so he won’t disturb Bruce as he watches his show.

\--

Clint gets out of the hospital three days later. He’s still supposed to be taking it easy, but he only makes it another day of lounging around his apartment before he _needs _to get out.

He didn’t think, when he allowed most of the sex he had with Steve and Bucky to occur on his floor, about what it might be like _after, _when everywhere reminds him of them. He’s such an idiot; he did this to himself. 

He takes coffee from his own kitchen up to the roof, in a thermos so it won’t get cold, and sits on the edge, breathing in air that’s only fresh up this high.

He’s unsurprised when Bucky takes a seat beside him around half an hour later; Clint heard him coming, after all, and he’s in no shape to run away. “You can’t punch me,” Clint tells him. “I’m already broken.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Bucky sounds perplexed. “Nah, I’m just here to ask if you’re ready to talk.”

“No.”

Clint sees Bucky’s eyes narrow in his periphery vision; Bucky’s studying him in a way that’s eerily similar to Natasha. “Tough,” Bucky decides. “But I’ll let you finish your coffee first.”

“You gotta make me more coffee if we’re gonna talk about this,” Clint says, his mouth running away with him again. “Fuck, I mean—”

“Sure,” Bucky says easily, cutting Clint off. “I’ll go make it now, if you promise to meet me and Stevie on our floor in fifteen minutes.”

Clint knows this conversation is going to have to happen eventually. It might as well happen now, when he’s got dedicated moping time and coffee to support him through it. “Yeah, okay.”

When Clint makes it down to their floor twelve minutes later—the lure of coffee too strong to put it off—he hesitates outside of their door.

He’s been in their rooms before—sometimes Clint and Bucky play video games there, when Bucky’s having a bad day and doesn’t want to be on the main floor with his back to a communal doorway, and a few times the three of them have decided to watch movies and wanted a couch big enough to fit all of them—but it’s a fact that they spend way more time at Clint’s place than he spends at theirs.

Being here is an unwelcome reminder that there’s no room for him in this—Steve and Bucky _have _a life together already. Clint’s just encroaching on that.

He knocks anyway, and the door whips open, Steve on the other side. “Clint,” he says, and he sounds surprised—like maybe he didn’t believe Clint would show up? He studies Clint, cataloguing his injuries, and says, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Clint admits. “Bucky said there would be coffee?”

“Yeah, of course.” Steve steps aside and Clint moves past him, not stopping until he reaches the kitchen. Bucky’s already there, mug of coffee held out, and Clint takes it gratefully.

It’s the biggest mug they have; Clint’s preferred mug, when they do hang out here.

What does it mean that Bucky remembered and chose that one for him? Does it mean anything?

“C’mon, let’s sit down,” Bucky says, and Clint doesn’t think he imagines the trepidation that crosses Steve’s face.

It’s comforting, in some small way. At least Clint’s not the only one being dragged into this mostly unwilling.

Clint saves his sanity by taking an armchair to himself, although the couch is big enough to fit all of them. Bucky rolls his eyes at Clint but sits down anyway, angling his body so he’s looking directly at Clint, Steve in his periphery from next to him.

“So, from the avoiding, I take it you mean it when you said it,” Bucky starts.

This is already _so bad. _Clint wants to play dumb, to ask what “it” is, but he also doesn’t want to drag this out and make it more painful than it needs to be. “It just slipped out,” he tells them. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees. “But did you mean it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Would I ask if it didn’t matter?”

It’s like an immovable object being battered by an unstoppable force.

Steve steps in. “It matters,” he says, and before Clint can open his mouth to object, Steve continues, “because we’ve got feelings for you, too.”

“Bullshit,” Clint says. “You’re the most star-crossed love story of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries; you love _each other.” _

Bucky looks amused again. “Like it’s impossible to love two people? Wanna look at yourself?”

That shuts Clint up. Bucky’s… right.

But also… this is impossible.

“This is impossible,” he says out loud.

“You didn’t even get a hint of an idea when we started taking you out on dates?” Bucky asks, looking at Clint like he’s a particularly dumb puppy.

“Those weren’t dates,” Clint says. Bucky just raises an eyebrow, so Clint thinks back.

Okay, yeah, they were dates.

“Exactly.” It’s not Bucky this time, but Steve.

“So, what, I sexed you into having feelings for me?”

“As if,” Bucky says. “Steve, maybe. I’ve had feelings for you since way before the sex, but they obviously weren’t returned and I had Steve anyway, so it was fine.”

Steve’s blushing bright red. “I—yeah. I’m not saying the words, but yeah. Isn’t that what we did with you?”

Clint thinks about it. “Kinda?” he admits. “But also I just _like _you guys. And, uh, more.”

“We like you too,” Steve says in his sincere voice. “We want to date you. For real.”

“But… how can that work?”

Bucky shrugs. “How do any relationships work?”

“No, but, like…” Clint knows it’s a thing that people do. He doesn’t live under a rock. But… “You guys are going to get so much shit once it gets out.”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t see how it’s anyone’s business.”

“They’re gonna make it their business,” Clint points out.

“Fuck ‘em,” Steve says. “Clint, stop thinking about other people. What do _you _want?”

“This,” Clint admits. “But…”

“But what?” Bucky asks, sounding exasperated.

“I’m scared. I’m not good at relationships. I forget important dates and I say the wrong thing and I’m a disaster of a human and it never works.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but it’s a fond gesture. “We know that, idiot. We like you anyway.”

“Oh,” Clint says, stumped. “I… okay.”

“Okay?” Steve is lit up, radiant, and if Clint wasn’t already saying yes, there’s no way he’d be able to say no in the face of that.

“Yeah, okay,” Clint agrees. “Let’s try this. Sex, but also dating.”

Bucky’s smile is wide and satisfied.

“Get over here so we can cuddle you,” Steve tells Clint, scooting over to make a space between him and Bucky.

Clint snorts. “I’m all banged up, that seems unreasonably dangerous,” he says, like he isn’t already moving to comply.

“Heat heals,” Bucky says. “Now shut up and enjoy the moment.”

So he does.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content: phone sex, orgasm delay, also accidental love confessions

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: multiple orgasms, overstimulation, d/s as a blanket warning for all chapters
> 
> I'm posting this all today, but I'd appreciate comments as they come to you. This was no joke pretty much my entire life for a month. 
> 
> Happy reading!


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